


On a Cold, Unforgiving Day

by SleepyMango



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4331970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepyMango/pseuds/SleepyMango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss Everdeen lives in a small mining town in the 1930s, ravaged by the Great Depression. Her parents are gone, her sister is starving, and she has nowhere to turn. That is until the baker, Peeta Mellark, offers her a job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Today is another rainy day, one in which the water comes from the sky in torrents and relentlessly soaks me to the bone. I have little defense from it other than my father's jacket and even that, with its thick and supple leather, doesn't do much. But rain or no, I have no choice but to trudge deep into the woods in search of game. I've had to go progressively deeper into the woods as our town makes the slow and cruel progression into winter. Most of the animals have just gone into hibernation; huddled deep underground or in a cave where the cold and my arrows cannot reach them.

I reluctantly drag myself out of bed into the freezing air, much to the disappointment of Prim, who now has no one to warm her freezing toes against. I look at her sleeping face, her little body huddled into a ball. Even in her sleeping state I can see her bony shoulders and her too thin torso. Her face isn't round with youth as it should be, instead showing the hollows of a girl who has been too affected by the change in weather.

She reminds me why I'm doing this, why I'm getting up at 5 in the morning to go freeze and slip and strain my eyes against the rising sun. She is by far the most important thing in my life, and I must protect her.

That's not to say that I don't feel the consequences that the lack of food has brought upon us. Being naturally slim before, I now look almost emaciated. I have lost any fat I once had, which makes me even more ill equipped to face the biting cold and merciless downpour that greets me each morning.

It makes it even worse that I don't have the right clothes to protect my fragile body from the harsh winds and unforgiving cold.

I sigh as I survey my dresser and the meager selection it displays to me. As always, I have no choice but to layer as much as I can, in lieu of any piece of clothing that isn't worn thin and threadbare. I settle on my thermals, a given in this weather, and my thickest pair of pants, dark brown corduroys that have been patched too many times to count. I top it off with a long sleeve shirt and a sweater, both that will go under my late father's hunting jacket.

I slip on two pairs of my patched wool socks and complete the ensemble with my well-worn hunting boots. Besides my fathers jacket, they are the nicest things I own and have saved me many a time from painful blisters or frostbitten toes.

The rain is still pounding on our little roof when I make my way into the living and kitchen area of our small home. I am reminded of the hunger gnawing in my belly when I pass the empty cabinets, wishing desperately that we had some bread or crackers for me to munch on.

Unfortunately, there is nothing of the sort in our home and I must get going to ensure we'll have something to eat later.

I grab my jacket, put it on, and head out the door, being careful to close it gently so that the noise does not wake Prim. She will have to leave for school in a few hours and she needs as much rest as she can get. I feel bad that she has to make the half-hour walk to school alone, let alone in the rain, as she is only 13. I would love to wake her up, make her breakfast, and walk her to school but I have to get up early to hunt so that we will not starve.

The source of our predicament is a stormy day four months ago. Prim was sick and my parents had borrowed our neighbor's car so my mother could go to the drug store and get something to make her feel better. My mother didn't know how to drive so my father had taken her. On their way back, the rain was coming in torrents, much like it is today, and it was extremely dark. The headlamps on my neighbor's car were very dim and did not do much to combat the cover of darkness. The car came across a small tree that had been felled by the storm about a mile from our home. My father failed to see it and thus failed to slow down. The car flipped over after meeting the tree and apparently slid for a ways. The car had nothing to stop them from flying through the front windshield and the impact killed them. I never saw their bodies, as the sheriff said they were too damaged and mangled for a young lady to see. They were buried in our backyard two days later in front of a small gathering of friends and family.

The death of my parents has forced me to become the sole provider for my sister at the tender age of 17, a fact that has shaped my life and my identity irreversibly. While money was tight before, the financial strain is unbearable now. I have tried and tried again to find a job but with the economy being the way it is, no one is hiring. Even if they were, they would not want to hire a poor girl who has been ravaged by hunger.

Up until now, we've been able to manage on the small amount of money that my father kept for emergencies. I've been able to pay the rent with it and buy some food items, but I just recently exhausted the meager supply of funds. We have no money for rent and no money for food, which means I have no choice but to hunt and gather what I can and figure out the rest later.

For the past few weeks I have been hunting in an effort to try to procure some sustenance for my sister and I. Each morning I get up early, I go to the woods and bring home anything edible I can shoot or find, I go to the Hob or bakery to trade whatever I can spare, and then I come home and look at my sisters sunken face as she eats the inadequate meal I struggled to provide for her.

Despite how depressing it is, it is something I must do. I take a moment to stretch before I start the walk to the forest. My muscles are constantly sore and achy from so many hours spent in tension, waiting for game or trying to be still enough to kill it. After a few attempts at limbering up, I begin the trek, passing the vast expanses of land that separate the homes in this part of town.

I live in a mining town in western Pennsylvania. Most of the families here rely on their fathers or husband's mining jobs for their next meal. Working in the mines is hard, backbreaking work. The hours are long and the pay is not good, but these days most folks are happy to have any pay at all.

My father worked in the mines and he would come home each day exhausted, covered in coal dust and ready to collapse into bed. My mother would have his bath and dinner waiting for him each day when he got home and would often help him bathe. They were very much in love and it showed in the simple, loving rituals she preformed for him.

If you don't own one of the few small businesses in the town square, then mining is just about your only option for work. Lately, even some of the miners have been getting laid off due to decreased demand because of the depression. I considered trying to get a job at the mines but knew that it would ultimately be a fruitless endeavor; I am not strong enough for that kind of work and would certainly not be hired while they are laying off perfectly capable, hardworking men.

That left the only hope for a job in the few merchant families such as those who own the grocer, bakery, drug, and general store. It was extremely hard for me to approach each of those business owners to ask for a job, as it wounded my pride. It made it even worse when they turned me away each time. The only shop that I did not plead at for a job had been the bakery, as I have a profound sense of debt to Mr. Mellark and I felt it would be incredibly selfish to exacerbate that by asking for a job.

About three months ago, only a month after my parent's death, I had gone to the back door of the bakery to trade with Mr. Mellark as I so often do. As always, he was very nice to me and generous in his trade. I had four squirrels to trade for bread and we had agreed upon one loaf of his white bread as payment for the squirrels. I did not look in the bag while I was at his back door and was oblivious to the added weight of the bag in my haste to get home and eat. When I got home I had found two loaves of his hearty nut bread and two of his delicious cheese buns. I knew it was not a mistake and that he had consciously given me such a foolishly generous bounty. I did not know it at the time but that bread had saved me from having to spend money for a couple days, ultimately stretching the amount of time we were able to subsist off the little money we had.

Because of his kindness and charity, I refuse to ask Mr. Mellark for a job. It is enough that I allow him to regularly give me an extra roll or two when we trade. He is a very kind man and I refuse to take advantage of him by begging him for employment.

With the thought of trading with Mr. Mellark and receiving soft, warm bread I walk a little faster towards the edge of the forest which is now in my line of sight. I am grateful to reach the cover of the trees and find myself instantly calmed in the presence of the woods, my favorite place. There is a certain peace that comes from being alone here; it allows me to feel as though I am not breaking under the weight of my responsibilities for a few moments.

I retrieve my bow from its place in the hollow trunk of an old tree and start on my mission of finding prey to take home to my sister.

After about three hours of searching desperately, I have bagged a pitiful three squirrels and a rabbit, not nearly enough to nourish Prim and I. The rain is still pouring hard and I am shivering from prolonged exposure to the cold. I feel hopeless and sufficiently exhausted as I trudge deeper and deeper into the woods and find nothing more. I come across a flat rock and decide to sit down and rest for a couple minutes before making the long journey home.

I am dizzy and wish nothing more than to go home, eat a warm meal, and sleep for many hours. The fact that I have not eaten anything except a roll in a day and half means that I tire easily and traipsing through the woods is already taxing enough without the weakness and loss of stamina from severe hunger. During my trek here I had to take many breaks and lost my breath easily. I surmise it is close to 11 in the morning and it is time and past that I turn back so that I am home in time to pick my sister up from school. I come to the conclusion that I have to return back home promptly. There is no game around here and I risk collapsing from exhaustion every moment I stay out in the cold.

I reluctantly stand up and make my way back into the dense flock of trees from which I came. I start the hike back, cold, soaked to the bone, and thoroughly exhausted. I have to stop frequently to catch my breath, often leaning up against a tree and taking a sip from my almost-empty canteen that I keep in a pocket on the outside of my game bag.

Every time I pull my canteen out I am reminded of how small my haul is and how it will fail to fill Prim's stomach. As I am walking I decide that I will make a quick trip to the bakery to trade the squirrels before I pick up Prim. Then I will go home and try to stretch this rabbit as far as I can by making a soup. I wish fiercely that I had vegetables to make it into a stew, but I simply have nothing of the sort and no way to get it. Fruits and vegetables are relatively scarce at the Hob, the name of the grocer's store, which means that they are fairly expensive. Unless you are a merchant, you likely don't have access to the few articles of produce that are grown within the town. Occasionally, deliveries will be made to stock the stores, but they are not frequent enough to provide us with ample amounts of fruits and vegetables.

Despite my wishes and fantasies of more, we have what we have and I must make it stretch as far as possible. The precious rolls I get from the bakery will go with the soup and help us wipe the last precious drops of it from the inside of our bowls. I will use the rabbit's bones for the broth and carefully skin the pelt so that I may add it to my collection that I was hoping to make something out of for Prim. I do not have enough yet to make anything, as I have not been catching many rabbits, but I hope I will soon, as the winter looks as though it is going to be an especially cold one.

After a long and grueling walk I finally arrive at the edge of the woods and see the home that I passed on my way into the forest. My tired legs are grateful as I find myself at the bakery's back door a short while after and can stop walking for a moment. I waste no time in knocking on the back door and hope fervently that the baker is not repelled by my soaking and haggard appearance, as I'm sure I would be if someone were to show up at my doorstop looking like this. Luckily, the baker smiles warmly at me upon opening the door and my insecurities are promptly set aside. His very essence is redolent of a hug and exudes comfort.

Peeta Mellark owns the town bakery and is by far the youngest shop owner. He is only a couple years older than I am and was in my class at school when I still went there. His father opened the bakery before he was born, and was well liked by the whole town. Unfortunately, he died suddenly of a heart attack when Peeta was sixteen, about three years ago. Peeta dropped out of school at that time because his mother made him work full time. While that is not something that is especially cruel or unusual, I had never liked his mother. She is a witch of a woman and I have seen her hit and verbally berate her only son on multiple occasions.

Just last year, Peeta turned 18 and inherited the bakery that his father left him. Because the bakery now legally belonged to Peeta and not Mrs. Mellark, Mrs. Mellark left town and abandoned her son overnight. It was the talk of the town for quite a few weeks but everyone seems to have accepted it now. Mr. Mellark runs the bakery with little help and is kind and pleasant to everyone.

He has broad shoulders and a stocky yet tall build. While he is a large man, with muscular arms and a strong torso, he is anything but intimidating. Unlike most girls around here, I do not harbor any romantic feelings towards him, but I can understand why some do. He has a handsome face with a defined jaw line, sandy blonde hair, and the clearest blue eyes I've ever seen. He also has long eyelashes and plump lips that create a stunning smile. Many a time I have overheard high pitched giggles in the schoolyard about how the speaker would love to enjoy the physical benefits of being married to such a handsome young man.

Personally, I've always thought such talk was foolish. I've never had much interest in marriage or being a proper lady, and I certainly don't have the luxury of the spare time to entertain such thoughts. Sure, Mr. Mellark may very well be one of the most handsome men in town, but that doesn't mean I'm going to fawn over him and dream of having his fair skinned babies. He is a nice man and I appreciate the kindness he has showed towards me, and that is the end of it.

"Hi, Katniss." He greets me while smiling broadly. Behind him I can see a large surface with various doughs spread out on a light layer of flour. The scent is heavenly; it is thick with cinnamon and nutmeg and sugar. I feel a tad warmer than I had a moment ago, with the small awning I am standing under to shield me from the rain in addition to the heat generated by the giant wood-burning ovens that has escaped the bakery.

"Hello, Mr. Mellark, I have some squirrels for you today." I say without preamble; I've never been good at making small talk, however pleasant someone might be to me.

"That sounds great, how many do you have today?" Upon closer inspection, Mr. Mellark seems a little flustered. He has a blush on his cheeks and he keeps running his hand through his curly hair. I wonder what is troubling him and decide that I should keep the exchange as short as possible so that he can go back to whatever he was doing.

"I have three. They're a little slim so I think five rolls is a fair trade." If I'm being honest I would probably take three rolls as payment, definitely four.

"No, that's not enough how about you come inside and we can discuss it." He asks timidly as he sidesteps to allow me entrance. I know he must be taking pity on me as he can see I'm soaking wet. If I wasn't shivering from the cold and I couldn't feel how delicious the warmth from inside is, I would absolutely refuse. Today I just don't have it in me though and I reason with myself that I'll only be a minute.

"That's kind of you sir, thank you." I say as I enter the threshold. I'm instantly enveloped by the warmth of the bakery and the delectable smells from whatever treat he is making. I am standing in the bakery kitchen for the first time and while it is humble in size, it is lovely. There are two large ovens off to the side and a moderately sized counter with a deep, cracked sink. The main workspace is the island in the middle of the room that is covered with flour as I saw earlier. There are some cabinets above the sink that I imagine hold all the flours and chocolates and sweeteners that the baker uses to concoct his beautiful treats. While old and worn, the space is charming and I can imagine it would not be unpleasant to spend your days here.

I also notice that there are a few sporadically placed paintings on the walls. They range in size from a piece of standard paper to about the width and length of my torso. While they are of ordinary and even ugly things, such as dandelions or the little weed infested meadow outside of town, they are easily the most beautiful paintings I have ever seen. They are so vivid I can smell the meadow grasses and hear the sound of birds chirping in the springtime. The imagery brings a faint smile to my face before I manage to suppress it. I imagine that Mr. Mellark must have received these as a gift from a family member abroad or perhaps from a very talented friend. They look extremely expensive.

I am drawn out of my reverie when Mr. Mellark clears his throat. I instantly blush at my rudeness; here he is, inviting a dripping girl into his home and I stand here gawking at the walls. He must have many important things to do.

He is even more flushed than before and looks downright sheepish. He is not the picture of poise and ease that he usually is and I remind myself that he must have a very pressing issue on his hand to be this flustered.

"I'm sorry for staring. Those paintings are just very beautiful; I've never seen anything like them. But anyway, lets just agree upon a number of rolls and I'll be out of your hair, I'm sure you're very busy." I am painfully self-conscious as I stand in front of him in his homey bakery and wait for a reply.

He opens his mouth and closes it a few times, like a gaping fish. He finally manages to stammer out a few sentences. "N..no..not at all! I'm not busy I mean. And thank you, about the paintings. I've never been complimented on them before. And as for payment, how about I give you a loaf of the nut and raisin bread? Would that be ok? I can give you something different if you prefer."

I'm a little stunned by his offer. The bread he is referring to is by far the heartiest and one of the most expensive items they have. What I have would be barely worth a slice of that bread let alone an entire loaf. We could eat off of it for days. But it is not a fair trade.

"Mr. Mellark that is a very generous offer and hardly fair. All I have is a few measly squirrels."

"I must disagree. These are no ordinary squirrels. These are expertly shot squirrels. They will make a delicious meal and I'm only offering what it fair." He seems slightly less flustered now, probably because business transactions are commonplace for him and he feels comfortable bartering.

"Thank you for your praise but however expertly shot, they are still squirrels."

"Yes but I love squirrels. And besides, you would be doing me a favor. It is a slow day and I am certain that I will not sell this bread. I would absolutely hate to see it go to waste."

That's a boldfaced lie and we both know it. His bakery does very well, and it has been very few days where I have not seen merchant wives lining up outside the bakery in the morning to make sure they get what they want. But he knows that he has convinced me. It is painfully clear how desperate for food I am and my refusal is pathetic. I know this is merely well disguised charity but I have to swallow my pride. If not for myself then for Prim.

"If you insist." I try not to scowl and look more ungrateful than I already do.

He just smiles shyly in reply and goes to the front to fetch the bread. He has a slight limp as he walks because of an accident a few years back. He was only fourteen and was attacked by a rabid dog as he was trying to feed it some stale bread. In his innocence and generosity he advanced too quickly towards the dog, which was scared and lashed out and latched onto his left leg. The accident left his leg torn and some of the nerves damaged. Because of this he walks with a slight limp, which is barely noticeable.

He comes back a moment later with a brown paper bag heavy with the weight of the hearty bread. He approaches the spot in which I'm dripping onto his tiled floor and he sheepishly holds out the bag for me to take. I do so gently and then he takes back his proffered hand to rub the back of his neck, what I'm sure is a nervous habit. I'm again reminded on my intrusion and make a move towards the back door to leave the way I came.

He sees that I am about to leave and holds out a hand as if to stop me but thinks better of it and withdraws it slowly. His cheeks are even more flushed than before when he speaks.

"Um, I know you probably have to get going but I actually had something to ask you. Would you mind staying for a moment? I could get you a towel and some tea. I promise it won't take long."

He stands awkwardly as he nervously awaits my reply but I find myself momentarily speechless. What could Peeta Mellark possibly have to ask me? I'm suddenly nervous but must admit that drying off and having a quick cup of tea before the trek home sounds lovely. My curiosity and desire for warmth gets the better of me when I hastily reply.

"Sure, that sounds fine."

He quickly moves to pull out a stool for me at the work counter and steps back as he anxiously addresses me.

"I'll just go get a towel real quick, feel free to sit down."

I nod at him as he leaves the room and I take a deep breath. This entire interaction seems very strange to me and my stomach is a pit of nervousness and apprehension. I can't possibly imagine what his motives are and why he has always extended such hospitability and kindness towards me. Especially now, when I have arrived soaked to the bone at the back door of his bakery with a pathetic offering of squirrels in hand. I've surely interrupted him from important work but yet he has offered me a charitable trade and is now fetching a towel for me to dry off with. To say I feel uncomfortable and out of my element would be an understatement.

He returns with a worn towel in hand and hands it to me as he then retrieves some tea that he had brewing when I came in. He hands me a chipped teacup and then takes a seat to my side and turns to face me.

"I don't want to keep you from anything important so I'll just get down to it. I've been running this bakery by myself for about a year now and while I managed fine at first, the long hours have been starting to take a toll on me. I decided that I want to hire someone to help me out and I was wondering if you would be interested in working here."

He's anxiously awaiting a response but I'm shocked. I wonder why he would possibly want me to work here and the question slips out before I can stop it in fear of sounding foolish.

"You want me to work here?"

"Yes, I do. Only if you want to of course but I'd pay you fairly well and teach you everything you need to know."

My first instinct is to refuse because he's taking pity on me. There are many people in this town much more qualified for this job. I have no baking experience aside from making the occasional biscuit and I'm too weak to be of any help in lifting large bags of flour. I think of my pride and if it's worth preserving my dignity to see Prim starve. It's not. I don't know why he's being so generous or why he wants me to work for him. It seems too good to be true and it might be but I have to accept before he thinks better of it and rescinds his offer. I gather my thoughts quickly and move my eyes from where I had been staring at him with a stupid look on my face no doubt.

"I….I would be happy to work here if you'll have me."

He stares at me for a moment with a shocked look on his face, as if the prospect of a starving girl accepting a job offer is so ludicrous.

"Really? That's… that's great! I'm very glad, Katniss, I think you'll be a great fit."

He seems genuinely excited which puzzles me but I have not forgotten how uncomfortable I am and that I need to go pick Prim up.

"I'll work very hard, I won't let you down. When do you want me to start?" I say as I get up from my stool with my bag of bread to leave.

He stands up with me. "Umm.. Tomorrow? Is that ok?"

"Of course, what time?"

"Could you get here at 5? I know it's very early but it would be good if you could see how the morning preparations go." He looks nervous and apprehensive again, the earlier excitement gone from his boyish face. We've both walked towards the door and are standing close to each other, me with my wet hair and scrawny frame and him with his well fed muscles and rosy cheeks.

"Absolutely. I'll be here at 5 o'clock sharp."

"Perfect. Thank you for doing this Katniss, I really appreciate it. I'll see you tomorrow."

At that he holds the door open for me and I once again step into the pouring rain. I put the bag of bread under my sweater to keep it from getting soaked and walk around to the front of the bakery to head towards the school to pick up my sister. My curiosity gets the better of me and I look back at the bakery as I reach the main road. I find a pair of clear blue eyes staring back at me, half hidden by the curtain he's pushed back to watch me. He quickly pulls away from the window when he sees I've spotted him.

On my way to the school, all I can think about is why Peeta Mellark would offer me a job. And more importantly, why he's always been so generous to me. I'm wary of his motives but find I have no choice other than to see what happens.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has read or followed this story! Please review and let me know what you think of the story. This is my first Fanfic so I am still learning but I would be more than happy to hear from any of you! I will try to update at least once within the next week. Thank you for reading and enjoy.

The next morning I wake up at 4:00. My nerves woke me and ensured that I had a fitful and brief sleep. I'm tired and extremely nervous as I think about what the day has in store for me.

I get out of bed slowly in an effort not to wake Prim and carefully pick clothes for the day. I need to wear something that's functional but also presentable, as I want to make a good impression. Unfortunately, I don't have much in the way of options and am forced to settle on an outfit similar to the one I wore hunting yesterday. After I'm dressed, I make my way downstairs to the kitchen and see what we have to eat.

Like usual, it's not much but it's more than we've had for a while. I toast a piece of the hearty nut bread that Peeta gave me yesterday in exchange for squirrels. We don't have any butter or jam so I eat the bread plain.

Regardless, I savor the substantial bread. It's delicious and I'm reminded as I'm eating why I'm doing this. I don't think I would be as nervous for any other job but there's something about the prospect of spending all day in a small bakery with Peeta that puts butterflies in my stomach.

I think it's because of the overwhelming debt I feel to him, not only for previous acts of kindness but now the monumental generosity of offering me a job. I still can't fathom why he asked me to work for him instead all of the qualified and hungry people that would be happy to take my place and would work for no more than stale bread. I would too, quite honestly, but Peeta offered me a wage and I am thrilled at the thought of having actual money.

It's about 4:30 now and I decide that I should leave to make sure that I get there in time. The walk is about 20 minutes but the last thing I want is to risk being late on my first day. As I quietly shut the front door and start down the dark, moonlit road to the bakery, I think about what it will be like to work beside Peeta. I feel inadequate at the thought of how skilled he is and how I have virtually no experience in the way of baking. If there's one thing I hate, it's the feeling that I am ill prepared or inadequate at something.

His large hands know how to expertly knead doughs and gently decorate the most delicate cupcakes. I don't have the first clue on how to properly knead dough or decorate a cupcake, let alone one of the breathtaking ones that are displayed in the bakery.

The thought makes me remember a time when I had visited the bakery with my dad a long time ago. I must have been about 6 or 7. It was a special occasion, being mom's birthday and dad wanting to spend a few precious coins on a pastry for her. I was very excited to be in the bakery and to look at all the beautiful treats. I could not remember being in the bakery prior, as my family always made our bread at home out of the cheapest grain available.

As soon as we entered, I was enamored by the smell of warm bread and sugar. I was quick to flutter over to the display case and stare at the few masterfully decorated cupcakes, the croissants, even a doughnut or two. I had never had the pleasure of tasting any of the delectable sweets but I had no trouble imagining how splendid it would be to have one.

My dad chuckled at the haste with which I had gone to the case and bent down to my level. He asked me, "Which one do you want to get for mom, Kitty Cat?'

I carefully considered each and every offering and after much deliberation, settled on a vanilla cupcake. The yellow frosting atop the cupcake was piped to resemble a dandelion and I was struck by the beauty and fragility of it. I was surprised that someone would put such a seemingly ugly and ordinary flower on top of such a rare creation. Regardless, it caught my attention and I was awestruck by the amount of detail and finesse that went into crafting it.

I pointed to it and my dad patted my head and then told the baker, Peeta's dad, which one we wanted to purchase. As Peeta's father was wrapping it up for us I remember seeing a flushed, boyish face peeking at me from the back room. It was Peeta, about 8 years old and watching me with a nervous curiosity. He was chubby and adorable but not very popular. He was sometimes ridiculed and teased at school for being too sensitive or always having a cookie packed in his lunch. I had never spoken to him but he always struck me as quiet and exceedingly kind.

I stared back at him as my dad paid his father. My dad took my hand and I reluctantly tore my gaze from the shy little boy as we went to leave. On the walk home my dad told me that Peeta himself had decorated the cupcake and I remember thinking about how amazing it was that he could do that the next time I saw him.

I never told him that of course, nor did I tell him how I never looked at dandelions the same way again. I felt too different from him to approach him, even though a small part of me wanted to. I noticed him more after that and consequently noticed how kind he always was, regardless of the cruelty or insensitivity of our peers. I didn't really have any friends when I was in school, nor do I really have any friends now, besides Prim. I felt fine being by myself and felt very distant from most of the other children my age. Sometimes I felt lonely for brief moments. In those moments when I wanted a friend, I thought that Peeta would maybe make a good friend but always came to the conclusion that he was too different from me, from where I came from.

I suppose my childhood fascination with him adds to the anxiety I feel. Though I have interacted with him very little throughout my life, it feels as though we have a long history. It's embarrassing really, recounting my memories of him and how I sometimes thought of approaching him. It makes it seem as though I had a little schoolgirl crush on him, which I promise you, I did not.

I've never had a crush or understood why the girls at school would seem to talk of nothing else. It's expected of me at this age to start going steady with a boy and get married and all but it's been the farthest thing from my mind. I see how the wives in town are treated by their husbands and I'm horrified. I don't need a man to take care of me and I sure as hell don't need a man to beat me or expect me to clean the house all day. Plus, I highly doubt there's a man out there that would be accepting of my situation with my sister, regardless if I even liked him or not.

Thinking about those things seems pointless and I rarely, if ever, entertain such thoughts. I'm much more concerned with providing food for Prim and myself.

I'm drawn out of my reverie when I approach the bakery and see a welcoming ray of light through the open windows. I circle around to the back and knock on the door I visited yesterday, anxiously waiting and picking at my sweater while I hear a faint shuffle inside.

The door opens to a once again flushed and frazzled looking Peeta. He breaks into a big smile when he sees me and opens the door wider to allow me entry.

"Katniss! You're early! Come in, please, its cold outside." He says and ushers me in with a motion of his hand.

The bakery is warm from the heat of the ovens and smells like rising dough. It's only upon entering the bakery that I realize how cold it was outside and how nice it feels to be in here. I stand awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen while looking around. Peeta clears his throat and then sets a teacup and a scone on the work surface in front of me.

"I made some tea if you want some. And the scone there is from yesterday but hopefully it'll make do if you're hungry." He looks nervous and timid as he did yesterday, which I am still surprised by. I've noticed that when he interacts with others in town and at school and such that he seems very confident and outgoing.

"Thank you, that sounds great." I tell him quietly as I take a sip of the mint tea he's made for me. I tentatively take the same seat I did yesterday at a stool and take a bite of my scone. While it is a bit stale, it's considerably better than anything I've eaten in a very long time and I have to bite back a moan of contentment as the lemon flavor melts on my tongue. I had my eyes closed for a brief moment while I was savoring the scone and when I open them Peeta is staring at me with a sort of bewildered and shocked look on his face. He quickly turns away and starts talking as he idly wipes down the already clean surfaces.

"Thanks for coming so early, I know it must've been really hard getting up. But I promise you get used to it and then it's not so bad."

"No problem at all, I don't mind." I reply curtly, my tone made abrupt by the anxiety that has only intensified since I entered the bakery.

He turns back to face me and sticks the dishtowel he was using in the back pocket of his worn brown corduroys. His cable knit cream sweater has a little spot of flour on it, as do his pants. His cozy, functional appearance coupled with his blonde unruly curls makes for something of a vision and I find myself staring at him for a bit longer than I probably should. I don't know why he seems to evoke this reaction from me sometimes but it's annoying and I wish he would give me something to do so I could keep myself from over thinking.

As though he sensed my discomfort, he moves from his position leaning up against the sink and to the area in front of me on which there are various types of dough resting.

"Great, well, this is the dough for the different breads that we're making this morning. We'll make more bread as the day goes on but this is good to start us off. I made the dough last night and kneaded it a bit and it's been resting since then. The resting is so it will rise and bake properly. So right now what we have to do is punch the dough, shape it, and then put it on a tray and bake it." He looks up at from the countertop and asks, "Sound ok?"

I'm overwhelmed by his presence, my surroundings, and his instructions and the only thing I can think to say is, "Punch it?"

He chuckles at that, a low, throaty sound unlike his normal speaking voice and proceeds to answer my stupid question. "Yes, we have to punch the dough once it's had time to rise so there won't be too much air trapped in the bread once it's baked."

"Oh, ok" I say, another asinine reply, as I look at him with what would be cheeks as red as his if my skin were lighter.

"So, if you're ready, we can start by baking these and then we can move on to the more complicated stuff." He takes one of the bowls and removes the cloth that was resting on top. He makes a fist and punches the dough forcefully but not violently with his large hand. Then he takes the dough and puts it on a baking tray and shapes it into an oblong loaf. I sit there transfixed by his assured actions and the way he confidently and skillfully moves. He is wholly concentrated on the task at hand and seems to have forgotten to be sheepish and nervous for a second.

As he repeats the process with the other types of dough on the counter, I stare, forgetting that I should be helping in some way. After a few moments all the trays are laid out with perfectly shaped loaves on them and a once again apprehensive Peeta looking them over.

"Now, we put them in the ovens. I started them when I got here so they would be heated and ready. The ovens run off gas so you don't need to worry about tending to a fire or anything. Anyway, we put them all in and then we'll check them in about 45 minutes."

He walks toward the ovens with two trays, one in each hand and I finally feel able to move. I scramble over to grab two trays in an effort to make myself useful and follow him over to the ovens. He places the two trays inside and then takes the ones I'm holding with a quiet "Thank you" and a small smile. I step back, unsure of myself, and start to dread how awkward work will be every day if things continue this way.

I've been here no more than 10 minutes and already we don't know what to say to each other. I don't even want to think about what it will be like every day if I keep having these strange bouts of staring at him. I don't know why he makes me so nervous and I'm not sure I can handle being here all day, silently brooding over what to say and if I should thank him for that time when he gave me a lot of extra bread after my parents died. I close my eyes and take a deep breath to steady myself from the raging thoughts inside my head.

He seems to notice my moment of anxiety because he's in front of me when I open my eyes, his hand outstretched but not touching me and with a face full of worry.

"Katniss, are you ok? Is something wrong?" He asks cautiously, genuine concern lacing his voice and features.

"I... I'm sorry, I'm fine, really." I say unconvincingly, hating the way my voice trembles. I'm surprised I was able to speak at all with the anxiety only seeming to increase. I'm suddenly very overwhelmed and don't know what to say to this man who has been nothing but nice to me and who is genuinely concerned. I worry about what he thinks of me. I worry that I'll lose this job. There's so much at stake and I can't believe that I've barely gotten here and I've already screwed it up. I wouldn't blame him if he fired me right now, went off to hire someone that could actually put bread in the oven without becoming overwhelmed with anxiety and causing a disturbance. I can vaguely sense that my breathing is fast and uneven and I close my eyes and attempt to steady myself by reaching for the countertop.

"Katniss, are you ok? Do you want me to go get Prim?"

He sounds slightly panicked and reaches out to steady me as I reach for the countertop. His touch calms me a tiny bit but then he moves away to get a stool and sits me gently on it. He picks up my hand and rubs gentle, soothing circles on my palm with his thumb in an effort to calm me down.

"Shhh, it's ok just breathe nice and slow. Everything's ok, you're fine, there's nothing to be worried about." He speaks slowly and softly and his words in conjunction with his touch seem to help a bit. I start breathing slower and felling less light headed. I take a moment before I open my eyes. When I do I find a concerned but sympathetic Peeta, eyebrows drawn with a sad smile on his face.

"I…I… I'm so sorry…" I say, my voice still uneven from my labored breathing. I try to keep breathing evenly to prevent myself from thinking about what just happened and panicking again.

"Hey, it's ok. I know you must be nervous and it doesn't help that I've been a bit stiff and rushed you straight into things. I used to get panic attacks a lot, trust me there's no reason to be sorry." He gives me another weak smile and continues to absentmindedly rub circles on my hand.

"Thank you" I manage to murmur as I stare transfixed at the place his thumb touches my palm. I can feel myself getting calmer by the second but as the anxiety fades, mortification sets in. I can't believe I just had a panic attack in front of Peeta on my first day of work. I've had occasional panic attacks since the death of my parents and it's always a humiliating experience. Peeta seems sympathetic and understanding though and I am once again grateful for his tenderness and empathy.

He gives my hand a light squeeze before he slowly lets go and gets up to bring me a glass of water. He returns with the water and sets it in front of me on the countertop. I feel normal now and ready to get the incident behind me. I take a sip of my water and stand up, eager to prove that I'm not fragile.

"I'm ok now. Thanks for understanding." I say, managing a small tight-lipped smile in an effort to reassure him.

"Of course. You know, Katniss, if something's bothering you or anything you can tell me. I don't want you to be nervous. I'd like to hope we could be friends."

Friends? I've never had anyone that I would consider a friend, let alone someone that wanted to be mine. I'm a little taken aback and baffled as to why he would want to be friends with me. I am quiet and often rude, and I have not exactly shown gratitude for the kindness he has showed me. Regardless, I'm grateful for his understanding and continued generosity.

"Thank you, I think that would be great," I say in reply, still nervous and feeling awkward as I idly stand in the kitchen.

We then get back to work, him showing me how to do things and talking about how things work and me eagerly listening and trying to complete the simple tasks he gives me. The hours seem to pass quickly as I concentrate on what it takes to bring the bakery to life, and before I know it the sun has risen and it's time to open.

Peeta goes to man the front counter as scores of women from town come to buy their morning bread. I stay in the back but I can hear Peeta banter back and forth with the women, charming them with his easy-going nature that I have yet to experience. I busy myself with carefully reading recipes or cleaning up while Peeta tends to the customers in front.

He teaches me things the rest of the day in between going to the front to sell bread to an impatient patron. I learn how to mix the ingredients, knead the dough, and where to find the ingredients. He tells and shows me how to do many other things but I get easily distracted and find myself unable to remember most of them. Regardless, Peeta is very patient and quick to repeat things when he looks over to find I have a dumb, vacant expression on my face while staring at him.

When 11:00 rolls around, Peeta tells me that he will be closing soon and I can go home. Relief passes through me at the announcement but I also look forward to coming back the next day. As the day wore on I felt more settled and confident in my ability to complete the necessary tasks. I could almost say that I enjoyed Peeta's warm, reassuring, and patient presence while he taught me how to make delicious creations.

"Do you want me to come in tomorrow?" I ask, once again awkwardly standing in the kitchen, unsure of myself.

"If you don't mind, that would be great. Same time if that's ok. If you need to do something or don't want to get up so early just let me know and we can work something out. Thanks for coming today Katniss, I really enjoyed your company." He says the last part with a timid smile and hands that busy themselves by rubbing the back of his neck, something he's done in moments of silence during the day.

"Ok, I'll see you then." I turn to leave and start to open the back door. Before I can talk myself out of it I turn around and hastily say what I've been wanting to all day.

"Oh, um, and Peeta?" He looks at me with a surprised expression and raised eyebrows, encouraging me to continue.

"Thank you for being so understanding. I was really nervous and you made me feel a lot better." It's hard to say and I feel my mortification return as soon as the words are out of my mouth, but a part of me is glad that I finally thanked him for one of his many acts of kindness.

He smiles a wide, goofy grin and seems to light up at my simple thanks.

"You're very welcome, Katniss. Anytime." He says, still looking at me with a big smile on his face. I quickly walk out the door and walk briskly away from the bakery, not looking back this time.

As I walk home, I think about all that happened today. His friendly reception of me, my panic attack, his incredible tenderness, and the comfort that his presence gave me. I'm exhausted and don't know what to make of the myriad of emotions swirling inside me.

When I get home I collapse in bed and have a long, dreamless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here's chapter 3; it's a tiny bit shorter than the last two but I hope the content makes up for it. I plan to write and post again in a few days. Thank you so much for reading and following/favoriting. Just a quick trigger warning, this chapter does have a few mentions of food and weight. Please review or just drop me a message to let me know how you like the story. Enjoy!

Over the past two weeks I've fallen into an easy rhythm at the bakery. I work 5 days a week, usually from 5 to 11, and I've come to enjoy my time working. As far as jobs go, it's the best one I can imagine. I learn how to make delicious treats and breads, I get to sample them, and Peeta always sends me home with something at the end of the day. Peeta and I have more or less overcome the initial awkwardness between us, mostly because I realized that I was being naturally hostile and he didn't deserve it.

Peeta has been as kind as ever, always welcoming and quick to make sure I'm as comfortable as possible. Every morning he opens the back door with a big smile on his face and every time I leave he gives me a warm and friendly goodbye. For the past week or so we've taken to having breakfast together. It's quick, probably only 15 minutes, but I must admit that it's often the highlight of my day. He'll usually have some muffins fresh out of the oven waiting for me or a pot of oatmeal cooking when I come in the morning. Always with tea and eaten at the workbench side by side. We talk some of the time, him often telling me about some new creation he's working on or a lighthearted story from his childhood. I suspect he is so diligent about feeding me breakfast because of how visibly malnourished I am.

Ever since I received my first paycheck, I've been able to actually keep food on hand at home. I think Peeta still doesn't think I'm eating enough though because he always seems to be trying to get me to eat something. In the morning, he'll make me a rich muffin and serve butter with it. If he makes oatmeal he gives me a deep little pot of thick, amber, honey, lots of brown sugar, and nuts besides. During the course of the morning he will make buttery toast for me and tea with lots of cream. Anything fattening that he can get me to eat he will. One time a few days ago he decorated a cupcake special just for me and put a beautifully crafted katniss flower on it. I was a bit speechless as he presented it to me timidly, an anxious smile on his face and downcast eyes. For the first time in a long time I felt a strong rush of emotion. I was overwhelmed at the fact that he would do something so innocent and kind for me. I thanked him vehemently, though I would be lying if I said that I understood why he did it.

Working with Peeta, I would be eating well even if he didn't pay me. But he does. Generously. Working 5 days a week for about 6 hours a day I make just about as much as my father did when he was working 10 hour days in the mines. When I brought my first envelope home, heavy with coins and bills, I was giddy. I thought of all the things I would finally be able to do and buy for Prim and I was ecstatic. I picked Prim up early from school that day and skipped over with her to the sweet shop, hand in hand, where I bought her some peppermints and gumdrops.

I've noticed that I've been happier since starting work at the bakery. While I would like to say that it is solely because of the steady paycheck, I know that it is also because I have found something of a friend in Peeta. We talk during the day and I find myself telling him things that are silly and unimportant, things that I feel stupid for saying. Like my favorite color or my favorite treat at the bakery (cheese buns). Though I feel stupid for entertaining such shallow thoughts, Peeta makes it feel natural and fun to talk freely. Something about him makes me want to talk, a feeling that is entirely foreign to me.

Sometimes, he is still shy and unsure of himself, which I am surprised by. I thought he would become more confident like he usually is with other people, especially in his own bakery. And while he has acclimated to my presence a little bit, I can still sometimes sense some underlying tension or apprehension. I've tried not to read too much into it, even though I have on occasion wondered if it's because of my harsh nature. I know I can be abrasive without intending to and I sincerely hope that I haven't made Peeta to feel as though I do not like him or am grateful for all he's done for me.

There is a part of me that is bitter about the debt that I feel I owe to Peeta for all the kindness he has showed me. The only reason I'm not driven crazy by the need to repay it is Peeta's benevolent and giving nature. I still don't understand why he has repeatedly given me so much when I have nothing to offer him, but I know that he never expected anything in return. He is a very sensitive and empathetic person, someone unlike any other person that I've met.

Peeta is someone that sustains a terrible injury to his leg when he tries to feed a stray dog. Someone that has been abandoned by his cruel mother after the sudden loss of his father and yet maintains a truly radiant disposition. He's kind and generous and I guess it shouldn't surprise me that he would see a starving seam girl and give her food and a great job. It doesn't surprise me when I think about, what does surprise me is that this girl is me. I feel wholly undeserving of his generosity yet accept it freely, coming back each day for more gentle words and big smiles.

Unfortunately, Peeta's pleasant nature has not discouraged my fascination with him. In the time that I have been working with Peeta, the periods of distraction I felt on the first day have not abated in the least bit. It's nothing short of frustrating, how I will find myself staring at him as he kneads dough or concentrates on piping a cupcake, his long blonde lashes blinking lazily. Even now when I'm just thinking about it I feel the same feeling of fascination and dare I call it, yearning? Something about him makes me nervous and happy at the same time. His sweet nature makes me feel protective of him, ready to defend this sweet boy that has done nothing but help me.

It's hard to admit that I feel a sense of kinship with him, as I am reluctant as can be about forming relationships or getting close to people. Ever since my parents died I have been able to see nothing but the cruel consequences of loving someone, the complete desolation that you are left in when something happens to them. Because of this, I keep my distance from people, something that's not difficult with my intimidating and abrasive disposition. Despite my efforts, the baker has inexplicably lowered my defenses. Caring about someone other than Prim is scary but I must admit that it is not all bad. I enjoy having a friend, despite never thinking I needed one.

All this talk of Peeta reminds me that I must get going, as it's about 4:40 and I have to start the walk to the bakery. As usual, Peeta unlocks the back door at my knock and greets me with a signature grin and a cheerful "Good morning Katniss!" I feel a rush of heat to my face when I take in his appearance and notice that he has traded in his usual thick sweater for a thin long sleeve henley that hugs his muscles.

I feel so stupid even noticing something like that! I usually don't notice or care about how guys look but Peeta is the exception. I have come to the conclusion that my periods of distraction and momentary appreciation are my traitorous body's way of telling me that I have matured. I don't have many curves to speak of but as I have gained some much needed weight over the past week I have noticed my tiny breasts filling in slightly, my hipbones no longer jutting out. I think that the added nutrition has brought on natural, albeit unwelcome, feelings of attraction. They are directed at Peeta simply because he is just about the only man I ever come into contact with, I decide. Regardless of why, these feelings are downright embarrassing and I hope feverently that Peeta doesn't take notice of my awkward behavior.

I enter the threshold and go to sit at the stool for our breakfast, as has become custom. Peeta has made delicious blueberry muffins this morning and I feel instantly calmed as I inhale their warm, sugary scent. Peeta brings over his own muffin and our tea, fixed with cream the way I like it. I waste no time in taking a big bite of the muffin and moan my approval, Peeta chuckling softly beside me.

"I'm glad you like them, they're a new recipe." He says, watching me intently as I devour my muffin in a very unladylike fashion.

"They're amazing, as usual." I say around a mouthful, swallowing and taking a sip of my tea as I try to manage a small smile in appreciation. It occurs to me suddenly that he must have to get here much earlier than I do in order to make muffins. Typical of me to take two weeks to notice that he must work very long hours, despite him saying he hired me so that he could work less.

"Peeta?" I ask, him looking over at me, a stray crumb clinging onto his plump bottom lip in an annoyingly adorable way.

"Hmmm?"

"I was just wondering, what time do you get here every morning? You must have to get in pretty early to make muffins, let alone try out a new recipe."

He looks a bit sheepish, as though he's been found out. His cheeks redden a bit, as they do often and he picks at the crumbs on his plate. "Umm, I don't get here that much earlier than you do. I just have to clean up a bit and do some accounting and I figure I might as well bake muffins while I'm here."

"Ok, but you're always here before me and you're here after I leave. You said you hired me so you could work less. Do you not trust me to be here by myself? If you need me to come earlier I can, or I can try to do some accounting or inventory. I know you haven't known me that long but I promise I wouldn't ever steal from you or anything. I can take on more responsibility so you don't have to work so long." I say, surprised that I feel a strong urge to help Peeta. The thought of him returning home after a long day utterly exhausted and alone, makes my heart ache a little bit. I don't want him to think that I'm incompetent or untrustworthy and that he must be here at all times to supervise me. While it is true that I wasn't a natural at first, I'd like to think I've learned the basics pretty well and could handle whatever he needed me to.

He looks up at me suddenly after he's finished listening to me, a fat, blonde curl bouncing on his forehead. His eyes are wide and alarmed, as if I've just told him something unthinkable or horrifying like that I hate his muffins.

"Katniss, I trust you implicitly." He says, an unexpected vehemence and passion behind his words. "You are extremely capable, I know that. I've actually been working significantly less since you started working here because I don't have to stay open as long or do as much prep work. You've been a tremendous help to me and I really enjoy having you here. I just come in early because I like to be here to greet you and have our breakfast together." He says the last part timidly, like he's confessing an embarrassing secret, as though I don't enjoy our morning routine and will be dismayed that he does.

"Ok, as long as you're not too tired or anything. You work very long hours and I imagine you must be exhausted when you go home." I don't know why I said that after he said he was ok, but regardless of his reassurance I still feel a nagging sense of concern at the thought of him overworking himself and coming home tired and lonely. Plus, its really none of my business, I am just his employee after all, but I can't shake the sadness that I have at the thought that this exceptionally kind boy has no one to look after him.

"I'm ok." He says, trying to reassure me, a sad smile on his face as he stares down at his now empty plate. "Honestly, I like to work as much as I can because I get kind of lonely if I spend too much time at home by myself."

I can tell he regrets saying that, that he thinks I will feel pity for him. I feel sad for him, but not pity. I find it unbelievable that someone as kind as him does not have a pretty blonde haired wife to cook him meals, worry over him, and shower him with affection at the end of every day. It seems strange that he is not married or in a long-term relationship given his desirability but I think I know why, having spent so much time with him.

Peeta is extremely sensitive and most girls in town would not understand him. They would see him for his good looks and his successful business and take advantage of his generosity. The girls in town are loud and flirtatious and I can't think of a single person that would be a good match for him. He's quiet and I imagine simple in his desires in a mate. Having gotten to know him these past couple weeks I have found that Peeta values honesty, loyalty, simplicity. He doesn't want a glamorous girl that flirts shamelessly and wants to go to parties. Though he would never think down on someone who wanted those things, that's not what he wants. He's very different from the boys at school that were crass and rude, that would say anything to get a girl to go out with them and give them kisses.

Now that I think about I don't think I've ever seen Peeta with a girlfriend. It's a surprising thought, someone as desirable as him not dating. It's possible he's gone on a couple dates but I don't know of any serious girlfriend of his. It's none of my business and I shouldn't be thinking or prying into his love life but I can't help it. My heart aches for Peeta, the more I think about how lonely he must be. His father died, his mother abandoned him, and I don't think he has any close friends.

No wonder he enjoys our breakfasts together. Like me, Peeta is quiet and responsible. He doesn't really have friends and certainly not a girlfriend. I have Prim, but I can't imagine how lonely I would be if I didn't have her.

I used to think Peeta and I were vastly different but I realize suddenly that we're not. Not at all. On the surface we appear to be, him coming from a comfortable upbringing, mine one of struggle. He is very outwardly charming and friendly whereas I am introspective and often prickly. But we are both similar in many ways, in our interests and independence and reluctant desire for companionship.

I don't know what to say in reply to Peeta's confession. I've been sitting here in silence for a moment, thinking about his life and how he must feel. I want him to know that I care about him, that we aren't that different, that I consider him a good friend, but I've never been good with words. I tentatively reach out my hand before I can think better of it, and cover his large hand on the table with my skinny fingers. He looks up suddenly, surprised at the gesture. Once again, his stubborn curl bounces and it inexplicably makes me want to reach out further, so I do. I cover his hand with mine completely, even though I know it's inappropriate and probably unwanted.

He doesn't look disturbed though, he looks surprised in the same way someone would be if a wild bird perched on their hand. He is shocked and still, not knowing how to react to my uncharacteristic act of support and affection. He looks down at my hand on his and then back at me with wide eyes. Slowly, the corners of his mouth turn up into a goofy grin and all the anxiety I had been feeling washes away. While unexpected, I can tell that he is touched by my gesture, much like I was with the katniss cupcake he gave me.

He very slowly and tenderly moves his other hand gently over mine, our hands gently clasped together in a very innocent and intimate way. He squeezes my hand softly and looks up at me again. His eyes are watery and his face is full of emotion but he is still smiling.

"Thank you, Katniss." He says so softly I can barely make out the words. I smile at him to let him know that he's welcome, that I understand, that I'm here.

The intensity of my concern for him scares me but it also invigorates me. Having a friend is a new experience for me and I can't imagine having a better one than Peeta.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone that has followed, favorited, or reviewed. Your support means a lot and encourages me to keep writing. If you have any questions about anything or any comments, please feel free to message me and/or review. I would love to hear what you think! Enjoy!

After Peeta and I shared our tender moment, it was back to work as usual. After a few seconds of wordless communication, we reluctantly disentangled our hands and mumbled that we should start work. After our unexpected exchange, Peeta was much more quiet and hesitant than usual. I don't think he knew how to react to my unexpected show of affection and frankly, I didn't either.

Towards the end of the morning he finally seemed to become less shy and more like his normal self. We started talking again, of simple things but it was pleasant. As it approached 11, business was slow and I was expecting Peeta to tell me I could head home, like he usually does.

He had been quiet again for the past half hour or so and I was wondering what was up with him, as he seemed to be contemplating something. There wasn't much left to do so I was sort of sitting around, idly wiping down countertops and tidying up when I decided to ask him what was up, seeing that we had sort of just reached a new level of our friendship. As usual, I worried about coming across as prying or annoying but figured Peeta wouldn't mind as he was usually an open book.

"Are you ok, Peeta? Is anything bothering you?' I asked, him looking up at me from the open recipe book he had been blankly staring at.

His eyes widened a bit in a mixture of surprise that I had picked up on his pensive mood and hesitation on how to answer my question.

"I'm ok." He said, giving me a tight-lipped smile, very much unlike the wide grins he often gives me. Usually talkative and open, Peeta was being surprisingly closed off and while it should have ended my line of questioning, his uncharacteristic response only made me more concerned and curious.

"Peeta, I know it's none of my business or anything but if something's bothering you, you can tell me. That's what friends are for." I added the last part hesitantly, reluctant to call us friends in fear of appearing overzealous.

He looked up at me again, eyes wider than before. I could tell he was scared that I thought he didn't want to be my friend, which was not what I thought. I was just puzzled as to why he was being so withdrawn when he was usually quite the opposite.

"Thank you, Katniss, I appreciate it. Nothing's wrong I'm just being kind of silly I guess." He started blushing and running his hand over the back of his neck in a way that told me he was uncomfortable with where this conversation was going. That didn't stop me though. I was too curious.

"I'm sure it's not silly, what's going on?" I prodded gently, suddenly desperate to know what he was thinking, what he was concerned about. I wanted to make him feel better; it was unsettling seeing the usually joyful boy that made my days brighter suddenly quiet and contemplative.

He hesitated then, obviously unsure of what to say to me. I wondered what he could be thinking about that he would not want to tell me. Was it something too personal that he didn't want to share with me? While I understood if it was, I must admit the thought stung a little for some inexplicable reason. Had I done something wrong? I figured this was most likely, and wished he would just say it if I had.

"Ummm, I was wondering…." He paused then and looked back down at the recipe book, unable to meet my eyes for some reason. I suppose I was probably being a bit intimidating, staring at him intently, waiting raptly for his reply. He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his neck again, finally gathering the courage to look up at me with apprehensive and timid blue eyes.

"I was wondering if you and Prim wanted to come to my house for dinner tonight? You don't have to of course and I don't want you to feel like you have to because you work with me or anything because you don't. I was just wondering if you wanted to come and have dinner at my house. With Prim of course. Only if you want to."

He said it in a hurried voice, obviously having trouble getting it out. He rambled a bit but in an absolutely adorable way. I thought it was sweet and also confusing that he was so nervous about asking my sister and I to dinner. Of course we would go to dinner at his house. Prim would be nothing short of ecstatic at the prospect of spending time with the man that has given us so much. She would love to dress up in her finest dress and do her hair and go have a surely delicious dinner at Peeta's home. It sounded lovely to me too. I wanted Peeta to meet Prim. I wasn't very forthcoming with words but I know that Peeta knows how important Prim is to me. It seems right that I would share such a crucial part of my life with him, when we have become friends and he has shared so much with me.

I've been looking at him for a moment, him staring back at me in the same nervous way.

"We would love to, Peeta. That sounds great." I say in way of reply, and his face instantly softens with relief. I have no clue why he was so nervous about asking or unsure of my answer but I find myself getting a little excited at the idea of having dinner at his home, if I'm being honest. I'm positive that Peeta will make something amazing and I can't wait for Prim to try his food and see how nice he is. I'm flattered that he asked and thought to invite Prim.

He smiles then, which in turn brings a smile to my face. We stand like that for a minute, smiling at each other across the countertop like idiots. He looks happy all of a sudden and I'm glad; seeing him act like himself brings relief to me and I'm glad that his contemplative mood wasn't caused by something more serious.

"Great! I'm so glad you guys want to come, I'll make something special for dinner and desert of course. You can go home now but could I pick you up at six o'clock?" He asks excitedly, his stubborn curl bouncing with the small movements of his head. I barely comprehend what he says because I was staring at the stray curl but luckily I'm able to form a reply after a second of staring at him, jaw slack, eyes vacant. No matter how hard I try I always end up either looking stupid or pissed off.

"That sounds great. You don't have to pick us up though; we're perfectly fine walking. Just tell me how to get to your house." I say, finally able to form a complete sentence.

"Oh, its ok, it's no trouble at all really. My house is a ways away from yours and it'll be dark anyways, I'll just come by your house at six." He says, smiling softly.

"Ok, thank you." I was reluctant to let him pick us up, as he was already being very generous by having us over and cooking for us. I had to remind myself that Peeta was doing it to be kind and would not expect anything in return. My first thought when someone did something nice for me was one of debt and how I would repay it, though those thoughts have been less frequent and intense lately just because of the sheer number of nice deeds Peeta does for me.

Prim will be beyond thrilled to be picked up in a car, having not ridden in one for years. I knew Peeta has a car because he drives it to work and his ancient Ford pickup truck is consequently always parked in front of the bakery.

I tell Peeta how to get to my house from the bakery, seeing as I don't have any idea where he lives and thus how he would get to my house from there. He listens closely, eager and not wanting to miss any of my sub-par instructions. After I've finished giving him instructions, he smiles big and wide and tells me he'll be there at six and that he's looking forward to it. I smile at that and tell him that I'm looking forward to it as well.

I leave then, Peeta holding the door for me as I leave and saying "Goodbye" in a happy and excited voice. I think of Peeta in his home with the same delighted look on his face, cooking dinner for us and looking forward to our company and my heart warms. I never would've thought to ask Peeta over to our home for dinner but I'm glad he invited us because it's a good idea. I'm looking forward to it more than probably makes sense but I decide to not overanalyze my feelings for once and make the walk home with a slight smile on my face.

I tidy up the home for a few hours and eat a sandwich for lunch. I feel sort of restless which is unusual so I go out to pet Lady, Prim's goat, until it's time to pick her up from school. I take the short walk over to her school at a quarter to three, five minutes before I usually leave but I figured I might as well go as I was anxious and had nothing left to do anyways.

I wait outside of the schoolhouse for a few minutes and am delighted when I see Prim skip her way over to me, happy as she so often is.

"Hey, little duck," I say, fiddling with her hair a bit as she hugs me.

"Hi, Katniss." She smiles up at me with her fair skinned little face, her fine blonde hair trailing behind her. My sister and I look very different; you would never know we were related if you didn't know us. She is fair skinned and blonde, much like Peeta's skin tone. I, on the other hand, have olive skin much darker than hers and thick, wavy, black hair that is almost always tied back in a braid.

I quite obviously take after my father whereas my sister takes after our mother. If our mother is any indication, Prim is going to be quite the beauty when she grows up and I anticipate that I'm going to have to beat boys off with a stick. Luckily, I don't have to worry about that yet, as she's only 10 years old and a generally happy little girl.

We start the stroll home hand in hand, both of us swinging our hands between us as we walk.

"How was your day, little duck?" I ask her, to which she looks at me briefly and replies that it was "Good, Beverly's mother packed her a cookie in her lunch and she shared some of it with me." That simple fact seems to have made her very pleased, but serves as a reminder to my thoughtlessness. I work in a bakery and I have not even once tried to bring home a treat to put in Prim's lunch. Peeta almost always sends me home with bread, which I use to make her sandwich, but she absolutely deserves to have a surprise sweet treat at lunchtime. I make a mental note to buy a cookie for Prim when I'm at work tomorrow and put it in her lunch the following day.

"That was very nice of her, " I say, stopping the motion of our hands in an effort to get her attention. We stop walking and I lean down to her to deliver the news about dinner because I know if I don't that she might run off from me in sheer excitement.

"Hey, little duck, Peeta invited us to come have dinner at his house tonight, does that sound good? He's going to pick us up in his car."

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh, Katniss that sounds amazing! How nice of him to invite me too, I can't wait!" As I expected, she's extremely excited and jumps up and down a little bit at the news. She practically skips the rest of the short way home and immediately runs upstairs to go pick out her dress and hair ribbon when we enter through the door.

I go upstairs and watch her for a moment, fluttering about her room, picking from the few choices she has. I've been saving up to buy her a new dress and pair of shoes, both of which she desperately needs. I myself could use some new clothes, but Prim always comes first. Everyday I wear my dad's pants, taken in so they don't fall down, paired with either one of mine or his sweaters. Peeta doesn't mind that I dress that way and frankly it's none of his business even if he did care but it is very improper of me. Ladies are supposed to wear dresses at all times, but I have never had an interest in doing that. They're not practical and not as comfortable as pants, something the women in town haven't seemed to realize. I get nasty looks every time someone sees me walking about town wearing corduroys, but I learned a long time ago to ignore them.

I have a few dresses, all but one of them once belonging to my mother, but I can't even remember the last time I wore one. I figure that I should wear one tonight as it would be impolite to show up in my bloodstained work pants and a tattered old sweater. I go to my own room to remind myself of my choices while Prim worries over what she's going to wear.

I go to my room and open my wardrobe, seeing a meager selection of old dresses to wear. I sigh and rub my eyes, as I am utterly and completely out of my element. Even though I don't have much to choose from, I'd probably end up picking the most inappropriate one for the occasion so I decide to enlist Prim's help. I walk down the creaky floors in the short hallway to Prim's room.

I pause in the doorway and watch her for a moment as she peruses her selection of hair ribbons. Contentment washes over me at the sight and the anticipation of tonight. For the first time in a long time, things feel right. Ever since my parents died I've felt empty and overwhelmed with the responsibility of caring for myself and my sister with ever dwindling resources and no one to lean on. But in the course of a few weeks that all has changed. I have a job and a friend. Someone who invites my sister and I over to dinner and is unbelievably kind and generous. I have enough money to buy food now and because of that I'm no longer sinking under the weight of my responsibilities.

I suspect I will always feel like something of a parent to Prim but decide that it's ok. Prim is my only family and a huge part of my life. It makes me happy to think that I have found a friend that is so accepting and supportive of my situation.

Breaking out of my reverie, I enter into Prim's room and ask her to help me pick something to wear. She's more than happy to help, as I knew she would be, and picks out a knee-length thin blue dress for me to wear. It doesn't have much weight to it so I'll have to wear a bra, something I usually don't do, as it's hardly necessary. I'm glad that I've gained a bit of weight recently; otherwise I would look downright pathetic in this dress that has a tendency to cling to one's frame. There's a sash around the middle to tie at the waist and while it's simple, there's something elegant and pleasing about the dress. As I knew she would, Prim's made an excellent choice considering what she had to work with.

With that out of the way, we still have a couple hours to kill before Peeta comes so I fix Prim a snack of toast and goat cheese with a few precious drops of honey. Buying honey felt like an unnecessary indulgence but I could afford it and it's been worth it to see how much Prim enjoys it.

I make myself a cup of mint tea with some milk and sugar and sit down with a book for a couple hours to pass the time. Prim entertains herself by playing with Lady, her doll, or reading. She's always been really good about letting me have private time and finding things to do.

I glance at the clock a couple hours later and find I only have about twenty minutes until Peeta arrives. I go upstairs, put the dress on, and look at myself in the mirror for a moment. I hardly, if ever, think about my appearance. But some part of me feels an unfamiliar urge to look nice for the dinner tonight. I don't know why I want Peeta to think I look nice but I do.

I'm worried that he'll think I look silly or foolish but I swallow the fear and decide it's a chance I'll have to take. I smooth the dress over myself and think about what to do with my hair. It doesn't feel right to wear it in my usual braid, given that I'm trying to look nice.

I tell Prim to get dressed on my way to the bathroom where I unplait my hair and set it about my shoulders. My hair is long, reaching about the middle of my back. It's very wavy and I decide that it looks ok the way it is and it'll just have to do. I don't have any fancy hair clips or anything of the sort so it will just be simply tucked behind my ears.

I put on my only other pair of shoes besides boots, a pair of worn oxfords that have about an inch of a heel on them. I check on Prim to make sure she's getting ready and find her dressed and in front of her mirror, brushing her fine blonde hair. I enter her room and take the brush from her. My wild nerves are soothed while I brush her soft, smooth hair and look at her peaceful little face in the mirror. She looks beautiful as always and I'm glad that Peeta invited us so that she could have something to look forward to.

When I'm finished, she ties a ribbon in her hair as a makeshift hair band and turns to me, eyeing me in a contemplative way.

"What is it, little duck? Do I look silly?" I ask, worried that she is going to confirm my suspicions.

"No," She says, in a cheery manner. "You look beautiful, Katniss. But you could use just one more thing."

She turns around then and opens the drawer in her little dresser that holds all of her hair ribbons. She considers them carefully and then selects one of her precious ribbons. Walking back to me, she motions for me to bend down. I oblige and get on my knees so that she can reach my head. She takes two sections from the front of my hair and brings them back to carefully secure with the ribbon. Once done, she thoughtfully looks over her work before taking a little wisp of hair out of it's grouping to frame my face. Satisfied with her styling, she steps back and smiles at me.

I get up to look in the mirror and am a bit surprised at what I see. My skin looks soft and supple, my hair long and wavy. The way Prim fixed it, my hair now frames my face in a flattering way, much better than it had looked before. My delicate features are no longer dominated by my unruly hair and are instead highlighted by it. I decide that I don't look silly. In fact, I think I look pretty for the first time in my life.

I turn to Prim and hug her, giving her a silent thanks for her expertise. It's then that I hear a knock on the door and I freeze, anxiety seizing me. Prim squeals at the sound and skips down the stairs before I can stop her.

Once downstairs, I hear her open the door and the nervous cadence of Peeta's voice fill my home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! This is the longest chapter yet and I'm anxious to hear what you think so please review. A million thanks to those who have followed,favorited, or reviewed already, thank you for sticking with me as I figure all this out. I hope you enjoy the story!

I stand motionless for a second, illogically nervous as I hear Prim's excited voice welcome Peeta into our home. I don't want to keep him waiting so I hesitantly descend the stairs, wringing my hands to keep the butterflies in my stomach at bay. I'm not quite prepared for what I see when I enter the living room.

Before me is my little sister practically jumping on quite easily the most handsome man I've ever seen. It's Peeta, with his unruly blonde curls and his skin reddened by nerves but he's all dressed up. I've never seen Peeta in anything other than work pants and a sweater or a long sleeved shirt and what he's wearing tonight is very different than his usual fare. In place of his usual flour stained pants, he has on some pressed dress slacks that fit him perfectly. He also has on a crisp white dress shirt under a sports jacket, both of which also fitting him a little too well.

I'm ashamed to admit it, but I stand there for a long moment, watching my sister animatedly talk to Peeta and my thoughts are less than pure. I've been (reluctantly) attracted to Peeta every time I've seen him but something about seeing him all dressed up, ready to take my sister and I to a home cooked meal is doing things to me. I have to remind myself that it's just hormones that have surfaced because of my recent influx of nutrition and that I'm being inappropriate and need to calm down.

Peeta is my employer and a friend and I'm sure he would be horrified if he had any idea what kind of thoughts I was just having. I clear my throat, in part to get his attention and in part to calm myself and he turns around quickly, both him and my sister looking at me.

It feels like time stops for a brief moment as he looks at me, an indescribable expression on his face. He takes me in and his mouth hangs open just a tiny bit, his curls doing their signature bounce when he moves his head back up from taking me in to look into my eyes. He closes his mouth and smiles softly, timidly at me, averting his eyes nervously after a second.

He clears his throat and gathers the courage to look back at me with his beet-red cheeks to say "Good evening, Katniss."

"Good evening, Peeta." I reply softly, at which my sister giggles in the corner. I have no idea what she's finding so funny but I glare at her for a second to tell her silently that she's being a rude little monkey.

She doesn't get the message apparently and feels like its necessary to embarrass me further so she turns to Peeta and says, "Doesn't Katniss look beautiful, Peeta?" in a very impish manner.

I hadn't thought it possible for Peeta's cheeks to get any redder but they do by some miracle of nature. Though obviously mortified by having to answer such a ridiculous question, he looks me straight in the eye as he answers.

"She does. Absolutely." There's an unexpected passion behind his words, which throws me for a loop for a second. If I didn't know better I would've thought that he actually meant it. It hurts, but I have to remind myself that Peeta is simply being polite because my troublemaker sister backed him into a corner with an embarrassing question.

I glare at Prim a bit more for good measure, though I will have to have a stern talk with her later. She doesn't seem bothered in the least bit and smiles back at me, an innocent look on her little face.

Peeta rubs the back of his neck and speaks in a quiet voice. "Are both of you ready? We could head over to my house if you like."

Prim immediately skips to the front door and looks back at me because apparently I didn't move fast enough. I turn to Peeta, who is once again rubbing the back of his neck in his nervous way.

"I'm sorry she's being so rude, she's usually not quite so annoying, I promise."

He chuckles a bit at this and looks fondly over at Prim bouncing impatiently by the front door.

"Oh, don't worry about it. It's nice to see her so excited." He says in a genuinely good-natured way.

If anyone were not to be bothered by my sister acting uncharacteristically difficult, it would be Peeta and I'm glad that he's so understanding. He seems to not be dismayed in the slightest by her behavior, which is a huge relief. I can only hope that she mellows out a bit once we get to his home.

We follow Prim out the door with Peeta bringing up the rear, closing the door behind me. Prim gets even more excited when she sees his car and runs to the door and climbs in. I get in behind her, Peeta closing the door for me. Peeta gets in the driver's side, sandwiching an enthusiastic Prim in between the two of us.

Prim runs her hand over the dashboard and the seats, managing to take up a surprising amount of space for such a little person. I put my arm around her and scoot her over in to my side so she doesn't crowd Peeta too much. He starts the car and drives out onto the road, leaving our little country home behind.

The car is silent for a moment until Prim's high-pitched little voice fills the small cab.

"So, Peeta, what made you want to hire my sister? She's super talented and responsible and everything, it just seemed kind of sudden." She turns to Peeta, a curious expression on her face.

I would never ask the question myself but I must admit that I have been wondering why he hired me. I turn to Peeta as well, raptly waiting for his reply.

Peeta swallows and stares ahead at the road, taking a second to think of how to answer the question. He takes a deep breath before he answers and keeps his eyes in front of him on the dirt road.

"Well Prim, as you know, your sister is very competent and focused and I have always admired that." He looks at me nervously and back to the road as he continues. "Every time she would bring me squirrels, they would always be shot through the eye. Every single time." He directs the last part at Prim as he looks down at her captivated face and gives her a smile. "And I figured anybody that was that good, that talented, at something was a good person to have around. And I saw her in town with you a few times, how sweet and loving she always is with you. And I figured that someone that was that kind and protective was the kind of person I wanted to work with all day. And I saw her trading in town and getting things to take care of you and I admired her responsibility. I trust her and I wanted someone I trusted working with me everyday. " He looks at me briefly once he's finished speaking, beet red and quite obviously nervous as to my reaction.

Frankly, I don't know how to react. I never expected Peeta would have such an incredibly sweet and flattering answer to that question. Deep down, I had always thought it had been a moment of pity in which Peeta had hired me but his response shows otherwise. He really thought about it. I think about him watching me, noticing me, and I get a warm feeling inside. Was it possible that he was noticing me all those times I was thinking about him? Does he know that I thought about him, that I appreciated that everything he did for me? Peeta just revealed that he's thought about me a lot more than I thought he did and I don't know why the thought makes me feel light and happy but it does.

Per usual, words fail me and I have no idea how to respond. I smile at him the next time he looks over at me and try to convey everything that I'm feeling. I want to tell him that I appreciate him, that I appreciate everything he does, that I appreciate that he takes me for what I am, but I don't know how without sounding like a lovesick teenager that's sucking up to him. So I smile and say, "Thank you, Peeta," in a small, timid, voice. But he hears and he smiles back at me, his earlier nervousness dissolved at my positive reception of his response to my curious sister.

Prim sits tucked into my side, pleased with the exchange. She looks back and forth between my face and Peeta's and her scrutiny makes me nervous. I don't know what she could possibly be thinking in that head of hers but I'm only hoping that she doesn't plan on embarrassing me further. I have a sinking suspicion that my hopes will be in vain.

We continue down the road for about 10 minutes, the only talk being Prim's enthusiastic chattering about what she's doing in school and random musings on random topics. Peeta takes it very well despite not being able to get a word in edge wise. He just listens intently, occasionally asking questions when appropriate or nodding his acknowledgment. I must say that I'm impressed at how good he his with her. Most men would be positively annoyed to hear the ramblings of a little girl, let alone for ten minutes, but Peeta seems to honestly not mind. When the car stops and Prim climbs over me to be the first out of the car, I turn to Peeta.

"Thank you for being so good with her," I tell him sincerely, my gratitude for him growing by the second.

"Of course, she's a delightful little kid, I'm happy to be able to spend time with the both of you." He says with a big and genuine smile, one I've come to expect and look forward to.

He exits the vehicle and does a quick little jog around the front of the car to come open my door for me. He extends his hand in a very gentlemanly fashion and I take it, tenderly placing my small hand in his. His hands are large, warm, and surprisingly soft. He takes me by surprise by squeezing my hand gently before letting go and I feel warmth radiate from my hand upwards. I'm taken aback by the sensation and covertly clutch my hand to my chest for a moment after he turns around to walk towards the car. I watch his thick curls move as he walks over to my sister who is standing on the front porch, waiting impatiently for us to come to her.

Peeta's home is an old one story that looks comfortable but not massive. The door is painted a cheery shade of red and framed by white shutters on either side. There's a lawn out front, framed by artfully placed patches of blue hydrangeas. There's even a winding path to the front door outlined by stones and more flowers. It looks charming and welcoming, further highlighted by the setting sun behind it. I think it's fitting, that such a handsome and welcoming little home would be Peeta's.

He meets my sister on the porch and opens the door for her, at which she rushes in to look around. Peeta holds open the door while I make my way towards him. I'm greeted by another timid smile when I enter the threshold.

The warm sensation that I had in the front yard amplifies when I enter Peeta's home. It's an embodiment of him, through and through. Upon entering I can see the living room, kitchen, and narrow hallway leading to the back of the house. The color palate is warm and inviting, it draws you in but isn't too loud of overwhelming. The furniture is slightly mismatched but complementary, each piece possessing character that blends together to give the home life. The kitchen is simple, but good in size and obviously well used. The blue tile on the backsplash complements the exterior of the home in such a way that speaks of the decorator's attention to detail. Overall, I'm astounded by the harmony and warmth of Peeta's house. It's obvious that Peeta has put a lot of work into decorating and maintaining it and he's done an excellent job. I had expected a messy bachelor's pad but have found a home as beautiful and well put together as any I've ever seen.

I turn around to find Peeta watching me anxiously, once again worried about my reaction.

"I know it's not much but it's comfortable," He says, worried for some reason that I'll disapprove of his home.

"Peeta," I say, looking into his eyes and trying to quell the nervousness he obviously feels, "It's the most beautiful home I've ever seen. It's magnificent. It's comfortable and charming and perfect. I can't imagine a better place to live." The words come pouring out of me. I'm surprised at my apt articulation, usually I can't put my feelings into words but the right ones seemed to have come right to me.

His face lights up, thrilled at my approval. His smile is big as it ever has been and warms me further; my whole body alight with a soft humming. "Thank you, Katniss. I'm glad you like it," He says between smiles, unreasonably thrilled by my reception of his home.

My sister takes this moment to make herself known, poking in between the two of us and boring her blue eyes up into Peeta's. Peeta looks down at her, surprised at her sudden appearance but no less delighted than he was a moment ago.

"Peeta?" My sister asks, and I steel myself for whatever embarrassment she is about to bestow on me.

"Yes, Prim?" Peeta asks, the same smile on his face as he graciously awaits my sister's query.

"Your home is lovely, I'd like to live here." Peeta's smile falters for a second at that, entirely unsure of how to respond. I immediately reach out to pull Prim into my side, saving Peeta from further interrogation.

"Prim, that was a very rude thing to say. Apologize and tell Peeta that his home is lovely in a way that doesn't insinuate you want to take it from him." I reprimand Prim, pushing her towards Peeta bit to apologize.

"I'm sorry if I was rude, Peeta," she says, big blue eyes staring up at him. "But, I didn't mean that I wanted to take your home from you. I meant that I want to live here with you and Katniss. You make her very happy."

I just about combust in embarrassment. The only way Prim could make this situation more mortifying is if she told Peeta how much I fussed over my appearance tonight, something I'm glad she shows the restraint not to do.

"Primrose!" I shout, not knowing what to do with my feelings of shame other than direct them at her. "Apologize again, this time for practically asking to move in with him."

"I'm sorry Peeta," she says in a small voice, chastised by my words. Peeta is speechless, standing stiff before my sister and I. As has become common, his cheeks have a prominent blush on them.

"I am so sorry, Peeta. Please just ignore her when she says stuff like that." I look at him, hoping he will accept my apology for my sister's atrocious behavior.

"Of…Of course Katniss, no problem at all." He says, stuttering in the beginning, finishing with a good-natured smile and moving on from the incident gracefully.

He clears his throat and motions to the modest kitchen table, set with a tablecloth and full place settings. "If you would like, we can eat now. All the food's ready." He moves to one of the three seats and pulls it out for Prim, who is pleased at the gesture and sits down, any trace of shame gone from her face.

He does the same for me, pulling open the chair and peering at me nervously as I sit down. "I'll go get the food, I'll be right back." He walks swiftly away to the kitchen nearby.

I take advantage of the opportunity to have a word with my sister who is currently setting the napkin in her lap with her pinkies up, trying to act very ladylike. "Prim!" I whisper frantically, "What has gotten into you? Why are you trying to make Peeta so uncomfortable?"

She just stares at me as though I'm the biggest idiot in the entire world. "Katniss," she stage whispers incredulously, "Someone has to move things along."

I have no idea what she means and suspect she's being cryptic on purpose. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on, Katniss, you two are impossible. Peeta obviously – " She stops suddenly and plasters a smile on her face, directing it behind me.

I turn around and find Peeta, clearly flustered and holding two large plates filled with truly delectable looking food. He sets one plate in front of Prim and I, and retreats back to the kitchen to serve himself. I look at my plate and Prim's cryptic words and strange behavior is instantly forgotten. Before me are generous portions of crispy roasted potatoes, goat cheese salad, and a tender pot roast.

As I'm salivating over my impending meal, Peeta comes in and places a basket of cheese buns on the table before sitting down with his own plate. The addition of the cheese buns makes the meal impossibly better but I'm distracted from the food for a moment when I find that Peeta's taken his jacket off. He has on his white dress shirt now, sleeves rolled up his forearms, hair slightly jostled by rushing to serve us. I feel that familiar feeling of transfixion that I often feel in the bakery, except this time multiplied. It's almost overwhelming, the heat I feel rush to my face and the sudden nervousness. I smooth down my hair to do something with my hands, chastising myself for being so silly and taking slow breaths to calm myself down.

I look back at the food and focus on that. I place my napkin on my lap while I gather myself and turn to Peeta once I think I can handle it. He's looking at me anxiously, unsure of how to continue. I look over to Prim to find her barely restraining herself, practically salivating over the food in front of her.

"Do you mind if we start eating, Peeta? It looks absolutely delicious." Prim says, looking to Peeta for approval.

"Of course, please dig in." He says while smiling at me, obviously nervous as to our reception of his cooking.

I take my first bite and immediately, flavors unlike anything I've ever tasted explode on my tongue. The pot roast is so, so tender and expertly seasoned, the potatoes perfectly crisp and delicious. I take a bite of the salad and find it also delicious, the dressing the perfect mixture of tart and sweet, the soft goat cheese acting as a perfect complement to the fresh, crispy lettuce. I take a moment to savor everything before I reach for a cheese bun and sink my teeth into warm bread, enhanced by the gooey, smoky cheese inside it's core. I close my eyes in happiness and let my senses bask in the perfection of the food that Peeta's prepared.

As usual, his food is amazing. Incredible. But the combination of all his amazing, fresh food combined with his polished presence and skillful handling of my sister all makes for an intense feeling of contentment to wash over me. My muscles relax, my shoulders drop, and I'm suddenly not so uptight and worried about how Peeta perceives me or how my sister behaves. Everything will happen as it happens and all will be well. I realize that I am in the company of my two favorite people and I allow myself to relax.

I look over at Peeta once I've swallowed my cheese bun and smile the most genuine smile I think I've ever given.

"Peeta," I say, feeling so much more at ease than I was previously, "This is amazing. Thank you so much for cooking for us. I think this is just about the best meal I've ever had." I look over at Prim and see she echoes my sentiment. She is nodding with fervor in between bites of her food.

"Thank you, Katniss." He says timidly, looking at me with relief and contentment. "I'm so glad you like it. I know the cheese buns are your favorite so I made some more for you to take home. There's also plenty more of everything else if either of you want seconds." He seems to gain confidence when he's speaking about his food, becoming less nervous and timid. Making delicious food is his trade, one he excels at every single day.

I'm touched by his thoughtfulness and generosity once again. I will enjoy the cheese buns for many days to come and they will serve as a reminder of Peeta and what an excellent friend he is.

"Thank you, Peeta. You didn't have to make cheese buns for us but I will absolutely enjoy having them. I'm pretty sure Prim likes them too, don't you Prim?" We both look over to find her cheeks stuffed with food, a half eaten cheese bun in front of her. She looks like a chipmunk that has happened upon a bounty of food unlike any she's ever seen, which is not far from the truth. She nods vehemently, trying to swallow so she can preserve any sense of poise that she had tried to establish.

Peeta and I both chuckle and I can feel the mood lighten. Peeta's nervousness fades a bit at seeing everything going smoothly and I can see him come to the same conclusion I did, that we are in good company, with good food and everything will work out.

For the rest of the meal we share lighthearted conversation, many chuckles and laughs exchanged between the three of us. Prim finds her voice about halfway into the meal, pausing between bites long enough to speak. She talks about her goat and her friends and other inconsequential things, all of which Peeta engages her during, asking questions and acknowledging everything she says.

I smile at the both of them, watching Peeta and my sister carry on their own conversation. Prim graciously allows Peeta to talk this time and he asks questions about what she's studying and what she wants to be when she grows up, to both of which she has a very animated and long response.

Peeta also includes me in the conversation, no small feat considering my chatterbox little sister. He asks me how I've been enjoying my time at the bakery or if there's anything I would like to be different. I tell him that yes, I am enjoying my time immensely and no, everything is perfect. He smiles a very wide, goofy grin at that and blushes.

During the course of the evening I watch him closely and find that my fascination only intensifies. Everything about him is mesmerizing and I have to remind myself multiple times that I'm being inappropriate. But I can't help myself. It seems as if my body has a reaction to him, something about him pulls me in. It's all very unnerving and confusing and I feel wrong for thinking less than pure thoughts about him.

More than a few times I find myself staring at his lips, at how plump and pink they are. At how kissable they are. And I silently reprimand myself for being so foolish. It's extremely silly to have such thoughts about anyone, let alone Peeta. I tell myself that I am not interested in Peeta in that way, though my body may feel otherwise. And even if I was—which I'm not - Peeta would absolutely, never feel that way about me.

I am a skinny little thing, though slightly less so over the past few weeks, and my features are hardly anything to write home about. I'm not ugly but I've never been particularly pretty, tonight being the best I've ever looked. I'm also very stubborn and oblivious at times, nothing like the sweet natured, curvy, blonde girl that Peeta would be best suited for. I'm not one to fawn over anybody and I'm sure that's what he's used to, being so handsome and all.

I must admit though that the idea of being with him romantically is not completely unappealing. I've never thought about anybody in that way before, and it feels strange to do so now. I shake myself out of it however, before it gets too far. That's a pointless path of thought to go down and I need to stop being so preoccupied.

I look around to find that everyone is finished with their dinners, Prim having finished off a massive plate. I have no idea where she put it, she's so tiny. I suppose I'm not one to talk though as I have cleaned my plate and had a couple cheese buns besides. I'm very full but find that I can't help but have a piece of the truly delectable pie that Peeta brings out for dessert.

It's a pumpkin pie, the crust soft and flaky, and the inside sweet and redolent of a warm hug. It's served with whipped cream on the top and I sigh at the sight, thoroughly surprised that this night just got better. Prim eats a slice too, although she already said how full she was. I don't blame her though, it's delicious. Just as good, if not better than anything I've ever had at the bakery. I don't know what sorcery Peeta possesses to make such amazing food but I'm glad that I get to be here to experience it.

Peeta clears the plates from the table when we're finished and Prim and I stiffly stand up, feeling like collapsing from the fullness of our bellies. I pull her into my side as she stifles a yawn and leans into me for support. She's had a long and exciting night and it's past her bedtime.

I turn to Peeta who is standing nearby, an expression of fondness on his face as he looks at us. "Thank you so much for tonight, Peeta. Everything was amazing. We've both really enjoyed ourselves, I really appreciate you inviting us." I say with sincerity, extremely grateful for what he has given my sister and I.

He looks delighted, staring at us with softness in his eyes. "Thank you, Katniss. This is the most homey this place has felt in a long time. I had a wonderful evening, your sister kept me thoroughly entertained. I hope we can do it again sometime." He looks away timidly as he suggests that we should do it again but I'm excited at the prospect. This has been one of the best nights I've had in a long time, filled with laughter and abundance instead of misery and hunger.

I'm so overwhelmed with feelings of warmth and comfort that I surprise myself, making a move towards him before I know what I'm doing or have time to think better of it. I pull Peeta into a hug, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other around my sister at my side who is barely keeping her eyes open.

He stiffens for a moment and then relaxes, putting both of his arms around me. I feel impossibly warmer and more content; like there's no place in the world I'd rather be at this moment. I'm pressed gently up against his chest and can feel his heart beating rapidly, the solidness of him enveloping me. He feels strong yet gentle, a comforting presence.

He pats me on the back and pulls away, unsure of himself. I feel instantly cold, robbed of the warmth of him. I force myself to step back and remember myself; that I have to go, that I should leave before simply being around him makes me delirious.

His cheeks are red and he looks flustered but content. He smiles at me, one of those big goofy ones and I smile back, instantly forgetting whatever I was worrying about.

"I should be getting her home probably, before she collapses." I motion to my practically sleeping sister, her face pressed into my waist.

"Of course, let's get you two home. He motions towards the door, his hand ghosting at the small of my back for the briefest of seconds. An electric charge shoots up my spine and I feel instantly awakened, following him and clutching my sister tighter.

When we reach his car I look between the door and my sister, unsure of how I'm going to hoist her up there in this state. Peeta notices my predicament and holds his hands out.

"I can lift her up, if that's ok." He says, again unsure of himself.

"That would be a big help, thank you," I say, relieved that I'm not going to have to embarrass myself by trying to get her up there.

Peeta places the bag of cheese buns in the car before he takes her gently from my arms, placing one hand behind her back and the other under her knees. She stirs a little bit but remains out of it for the most part.

He places her on the seat with the utmost tenderness and steps back, holding the door open as I slide in beside her. She cuddles into my side once I get in and buries her head in my neck. Once Peeta gets in the car and closes both the doors, he takes a moment before starting the car to stare at us. He has this peculiar soft and adoring expression on his face, as though my sister and I are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

He shakes his head a little bit and starts the car, carefully navigating the dark dirt roads. The car is silent as we drive, but it's peaceful. I don't feel the need to fill the car with mindless chatter.

We arrive at my house sometime later and once again, Peeta rushes around to open the door for me. I smile at him as I carefully disentangle my sister from me and prop her up so I can exit. Once I'm out of the car he carefully picks her up the same way as before.

"I can take her to bed if you want." He says, saving me the hassle of having to haul a grumpy Prim up the stairs.

"That would be great, thank you," I smile and lead the way into the house, a bag of cheese buns in hand. I motion for him to follow me and we climb the stairs, his strong arms cradling Prim securely. He follows me into her room and I turn back the covers so he can place her down. He gingerly puts her into her bed, tenderly, as if she was his own sister.

He surprises me then and pulls the covers up over her before giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. The action is full of love and adoration and I find myself even more transfixed than I had been previously. I'm shocked that he has so quickly taken such a protective role with my sister, putting her to bed with such care.

We exit the room and I close the door, careful not to wake her. We descend back down the stairs and stand awkwardly by the door for a moment, neither of us knowing what to say. I decide to break the silence and my stupor by trying to express my gratitude.

"Thank you, Peeta, I can't tell you how much this night meant to both of us. Thank you for inviting us into your home and cooking us an amazing meal and being so wonderful with my sister. Thank you for everything." I say, sincerity saturating my tone. I'm practically on the verge of tears; I'm so full of emotion, something that is new and scary. I hope he can sense how much I mean everything I've said.

I think he can because he smiles big and wide and runs a hand through his thick, curly hair so blonde it looks like spun sunshine.

"You're very welcome, Katniss. I would be more than happy to have the both of you over again, anytime. Thank you for coming, this was the best night I've had in a long time." He says slowly, timidly and my heart breaks for this boy. This lonely boy, so modest and kind who has welcomed me and my only family into his life. I don't know what to do with all these feelings so I let my body do what it wants to and hug him.

He doesn't stiffen this time, only melts into the hug and holds me tight against him. Here I am, standing in my entryway, embracing Peeta Mellark and it feels like just about the most right and natural thing I've ever done. I feel his thick arms around me, the soft hairs at the base of his neck, the head turned into my shoulder.

After a moment that ends far too soon we let go. And he smiles, that big goofy grin that I love. We both walk towards the door and he opens it, looking back at me with his ruddy cheeks and his happy face.

"Goodnight, Katniss," He says, "See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Peeta," I say, "See you tomorrow."

He walks down the driveway and I stand in the doorway, watching him go. He looks back at me as he gets in his car, the same smile still looking back at me. We both wave as he gets in his car and drives away.

After his car is out of view I go back inside and close the doors. I don't move for a moment and then I touch my lips, finding a smile I didn't even know was there.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! The M rating starts to come into play in this chapter, so if sexual situations make you uncomfortable then you might want to sit this one out (or at least the beginning). Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, or followed. Your support means an awful lot to me and encourages me to keep writing. Please review to let me know what you think. Enjoy!

As soon as I gather myself enough to move, I go to my room and close the door. I don't bother trying to undress Prim; she'll be fine sleeping in her dress for one night. I'm feeling a strange way, a way I've never felt before. I feel electrified and hazy, my skin more sensitive than it's ever been and a strange pulsing in between my thighs.

Peeta has done something to me. Seeing him like that, all dressed up and gentlemanly and good with my sister, it's only worsened my bodily reaction to him. To be quite honest, I've never felt this way before. And it's both exciting and terrifying.

I undress and change into my nightgown before climbing into bed. I turn the light off and just stare at the ceiling. It's not often that I'm not exhausted when I get into bed at the end of the day. But tonight my mind and heart are racing with all these new feelings. Why does Peeta make me feel this way? Why am I replaying an innocent hug over and over in my mind? I have no idea but it confuses me, the way I feel about him.

I must lie in bed like that for about a half hour before I become so flustered by the unsubsiding ache and my racing thoughts that I do something I've never done before. I touch myself where the pulsing is. I'm wholly unsure of what to do or where to touch but I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and push all the thoughts aside. I push aside the thoughts that this is wrong, or sinful, that I shouldn't be doing this. I've always thought it strange that people were so concerned with what people did alone at night. I figure it's fitting that I'm doing something the townspeople see as morally abhorrent, as they already see me as a pants-wearing heathen.

Though I don't agree that it's wrong, I've never done it before and am strangely nervous. I've never had these types of feelings or any desire to quell this fire inside me. I relax and move my hand, looking to discover what feels good. I find myself wet, so wet, impossibly wet and I don't know why. No one's ever even told me about what to expect from my own anatomy and like everything, I have to figure it out all by myself.

After a few minutes of touching gently, searching for something, some kind of new feeling, I find what I'm looking for. A little pinpoint of pleasure so sensitive I wonder how I haven't discovered it before. I focus on that one spot, rubbing in circles and back and forth, learning what feels good. It all feels really good.

I am immersed in a twilight zone, not fully aware and not caring. I am fully in tuned to my body, wiping everything from my mind other than the way I can make the heat spread farther and become more intense. As the minutes pass and I continue the same motions, sometimes speeding up or slowing down, I find myself getting more worked up, climbing towards something unknown that I desperately want to reach.

I can't help it, it's involuntary, the things that come to my mind. Suddenly, I see Peeta behind my clenched eyes. His luscious hair, his plump lips, his adorable expressions, his heart-stopping smiles. I don't even have the wherewithal to feel guilty for thinking about him while I pleasure myself.

The images of him morph into fantasies. It's all so natural, I don't remember trying to think of a scenario, all I remember is thinking of his hands on me. His big, soft hands on me, all over. His mouth on mine, on my neck, everywhere.

And before I know it my breathing is fast and my back is bowing off the bed, my legs shaking. Something explodes and heat radiates from the core of me, traveling down my thighs and legs and torso and arms. Peeta's name is ripped from my throat, erupting into the silence of the room.

I collapse, breathless. I have no idea what just happened but it was glorious. I feel the most calm, the most satisfied I have ever felt. I feel like some great tension has just been released from within me.

I relax. I melt into the bed. I let all worries and concerns vacate my mind. I don't let the guilt take hold. I just breathe evenly and let sleep pull me under.

The next morning I awake refreshed, despite it being 4:15 in the morning. Slowly, the previous day comes back to me. The dinner, Peeta, and what I was doing right before I fell asleep. Oh, god. It hits me now, the guilt I knew I would feel for thinking of Peeta in that way, while doing that. I groan and cover my face with my hands, remembering that I have to face him in 45 minutes. How am I going to look him in the eye when just last night I imagined those same eyes looking up at me from in between my legs?

I don't know what's gotten into me but it needs to stop. These feelings are pointless and frustrating. Despite what my body thinks, I don't want to date Peeta and he's not interested in me anyway so it's a mute point. I need to put my foolish urges aside for the sake of our friendship. For Christ's sake, he welcomes my sister and I into his home, cooks an amazing dinner for us, and I go home to think of him in a way that he would probably be horrified to find out about.

I sigh, getting up and preparing to start my day. I get dressed and head downstairs, careful to be quiet to not disturb Prim. She'll wake up on her own and get herself to school; she's always been good about that.

I forgo breakfast, as I know Peeta will probably have something waiting for me. I walk to the bakery and knock on the back door, anxious that he may somehow see my impure thoughts on my face.

"Katniss!" He greets enthusiastically, as happy as I've ever seen him. I forget my worries for a moment in the face of a grinning, delighted Peeta ushering me into the warm bakery.

This morning he's outdone himself. Spread on the worktop are thick Belgian waffles, fresh and warm. Beside them is a bottle of maple syrup and fresh roasted nuts with a sugary glaze on them. There's also my customary cup of tea and a glass of orange juice in front of my stool.

"I made breakfast," Peeta says, still delighted to see me and show me the fruits of his labor, "It's waffles and roasted nuts with maple syrup and orange juice. I hope everything's to your liking and if not I can always make you something else or do something extra to it, just let me know." He looks at me, waiting for my reaction with the same big grin on his face.

I'm staring at his lips, unable to think of anything but how I imagined them on my neck last night and how excited the thought made me. I shake myself out of it quickly because I know what will happen if I dwell on those kind of thoughts.

"It looks lovely Peeta," I say smiling at him, "You've outdone yourself. It looks amazing."

He retains his big smile and he motions towards the breakfast spread and ghosts his hand over the small of my back to guide me towards the workbench. I stiffen momentarily as a delicious shock travels at the base of my spine and settles down between my legs. I will myself to not be a hormone-crazed maniac and walk calmly over to the food.

We take our usual spots on the stools and look at each other, both of us silently delighted about last night. I start to eat my waffle and just as I thought they would be, they're the best I've ever had.

"This is incredible. Just like the food last night, it's some of the best I've ever had."

He beams at me, swallowing a bite of his own waffle. "I'm so glad you like it, Katniss. And I had a really great time last night, you and your sister were great company."

"Prim really took a liking to you"

He chuckles, remembering the enthusiasm with which my sister talked to him. "I'm glad, it was nice to see her so happy and animated."

I recall how sweet he was with her, how he treated her like his own little sister. There was a fondness present in their interactions that I had not expected.

We eat the rest of the meal in amicable silence and then start our day, each of us completing our respective tasks. When 11:00 rolls around, Peeta starts getting nervous like he did yesterday. Given how he acted yesterday I know he has something on his mind, something regarding me, and I gently prompt him to get it off his chest.

"What's going on, Peeta? Is something on your mind?"

He looks at me, all wide-eyed and anxious. He attempts a smile but it falls short, his usual jubilant spirit isn't in it. "Umm, yes actually, now that you mention it. I had a question to ask you."

"Ok, what is it?"

He pauses for a moment, just as anxious, if not more so, than he was yesterday. He can't meet my eyes, he's playing with the hem of his sweater, and his cheeks are as red as they could possibly be.

"Well, last ni- night went so well I was wondering if maybe you wanted to have dinner again this weekend? On Saturday? Of course we don't have to and if it's too soon or you don't want to or anyth—"

I interrupt his rambling, as adorable as it may be I know he's in anguish.

"That sounds great Peeta. I'll never turn down a chance to have a meal cooked by you." I punctuate with a smile, flattered that he wants to have me over again.

"Do you want Prim to come?" I ask, unsure if she was too intense for him, despite how well he handled her.

He's smiling softly now at my acceptance but still nervous, his cheeks flushed in that endearing way. "O..Of course, yes. If she wants to come, she's welcome to." He attempts a grin, it's not his usual poised smile but instead goofy and sweet.

"Thank you for inviting us Peeta, it's very nice of you and I appreciate it, along with everything else you've done for us."

He turns more serious at that, still happy but more concerned about saying the right thing.

"Katniss, I'd do anything for the two of you." He says, his blue eyes engaging me, pleasing with me to understand his sincerity.

I don't know what I was expecting him to say but it wasn't that. He says it with such conviction that I believe him, I believe he means that with all his heart. But I have no idea why.

"Why?" I ask, Peeta standing before me, nervous as before but with a new urgency and seriousness about him. It's clear that whatever's he's trying to say, he thinks it's very important that he says it correctly.

He doesn't know how to answer my question and I wonder if he even knows himself. Does he even understand why he has decided to practically provide for these two poor girls, both of them on the brink of starvation before he singlehandedly saved us?

"Because…..Because I….." He stops then, decides to say something else.

"I don't know, I just would. I care about you two." He finally says, almost with a tone of resignation. He watches me carefully as I stand there, unsure of what to say or do.

I'm confused, baffled really. I don't understand why Peeta feels that way, all I know is that he does. I know just as much about the motivation for his feelings as I do mine. Which is to say nothing at all.

He clears his throat and speaks, an awkward tension between us, "Anyway, you're free to go, Katniss, and I'll pick you up at 6:00 on Saturday if you still want to have dinner with me. If you and Prim still want to have dinner with me." His cheeks are tinted from embarrassment and he's watching me with his head downturned in a way that suggests defeat.

"Ok, thank you. And yes, that sounds good, of course we still want to go." I say and we head for the door, each of us eager to get ourselves out of this situation we've created.

"Goodbye, Katniss," He tells me as he holds the door open for me, though his tone is not happy as it usually is.

"Goodbye, Peeta," I say on my way out, confused and a little hurt at his lack of enthusiasm.

I head home then, the cryptic and confusing conversations of the day muddling my brain. I just don't know what to make of Peeta's behavior. One second he's his normal carefree, kind self and the next he's all nervous and flustered over asking my sister and I to dinner. It really doesn't make any sense at all.

I go in circles with my thoughts for hours until Prim comes home, failing to distract myself with chores or reading. Whenever there's a problem, I like to solve it quickly and efficiently. The fact that I don't have a clue as to how to solve the "problem" of what's going on is driving me mad.

While walking home with Prim, we exchange the usual pleasantries about how her day went and she tells me things about her friends or her schoolwork. I decide to ask her what she thinks about what's going on. She's very young but already better at social situations than I've ever been and I figure she'll have some idea as to why Peeta is so hot and cold all the time. Plus it's not like I have anyone else to ask.

"Prim, I have a problem." I say as I hand her the snack that I just fixed for her.

"What is it?" She asks, mildly concerned as she takes a bite of her food.

"It's about Peeta," I say, Prim listening intently. "As you know, he was very sweet and nice and friendly last night, although a bit nervous. Well today, he was all friendly and happy in the morning when we had breakfast together but then he got very nervous in the late morning. Right as I was about to leave he got all flustered and said he had to ask me a question. He asked us to dinner again on Saturday. And of course I said yes. But then I said thank you and he said that he would do anything for the two of us, just kind of out of the blue. And I asked him why and he was quiet for a second, thinking about what he was going to say. And then he started to say something but he stopped and said he didn't know. And then acted all peculiar and defeated until I left."

I don't realize until I'm done speaking that that was probably a bit much to unload on my little sister. But she sits serenely in her chair, a slow smile spreading on her face.

"What are you smiling about?" I ask, starting to get annoyed that she's taking pleasure in my anguish.

"Katniss, you are so oblivious," she says, a smug expression on her face.

"Prim! Don't say that to me, what are you talking about?"

"It's very obvious, Katniss. Peeta's acting that way because he has a crush on you and you make him nervous and he doesn't know how to handle it."

I scoff, "Please, Prim. This isn't a fairytale. Peeta does not have a crush on me."

She looks at me incredulously, like I'm a raging idiot. "He absolutely does! A really big, painful, obvious crush. And if you opened your eyes a little bit you would see it too." She tells me all this in her tiny little girl voice, making the reality of the situation hit home. My kid sister is sitting here telling me that Peeta Mellark has a big crush on me and I'm just too clueless to see it.

I don't know what to say. She's wrong, obviously. I don't know where she even got such an idea. It's ludicrous, the idea that someone as handsome and kind and successful as him would be interested in me. It's preposterous really, maybe even insulting to Peeta.

"He doesn't like me, Prim." I'm downright defiant at this point, pissed off that she would even suggest that. Logically, I know that I asked for her opinion but I'm still thoroughly annoyed.

"Ok," she says, the smug smile returning to her face because of how bothered I am at the suggestion. She waits a moment, chewing on her snack while I'm silently sulking and looks back up at me, amusement in her eyes.

"He does though," she says quietly, dead set on frustrating me further.

"Prim!" I get up as she's laughing at my expense, not willing to take any more gentle ridicule. I storm up to my room and close the door more loudly than is necessary. I realize I'm being a moody teenager and I don't even care.

I throw myself face down on my bed and groan, wholly unprepared to deal with whatever's going on. I've never been good at dealing with people other than Prim and I don't even know how to deal with her right now.

I go to sleep at some point and nap for a few hours. Prim comes in at dinnertime to tell me she's hungry and see if I've settled down. I have, and I apologize for getting frustrated with her.

"It's ok, Katniss, I would be frustrated too if I was in your situation." She seems sincere and I hug her, touched by her display of empathy.

"Thank you, Prim. You're a really great little sister."

"Oh! Katniss," She says, pulling back to look at my face "I forgot to tell you. I was going to have a sleepover with Mary on Saturday night. Her mom was going to pick me up at 5 and I was going to have dinner at her house. Is that ok?"

Great. Prim isn't going to be at the dinner with Peeta and I. I know that it's going to be infinitely more awkward in her absence. Still, I am not going to deprive my sister of something she's looking forward to because of my social ineptitude.

"Of course, Little Duck," I say while running my fingers through her soft, blonde hair. "If you want to have a sleepover with Mary then you are welcome to." I smile weakly, putting my sister ahead of my silly little problems.

"Thanks, Katniss. I can still help you get ready though."

"I think I'll take you up on that offer," I tell her, getting up to go make dinner.

"You could wear a potato sack and Peeta would still think you're super pretty though. But it doesn't hurt to wear your hair down once in a while."

"Ok, Prim," I deadpan, unwilling to engage with her about Peeta's supposed crush on me. It's clear that she's going to think what she's going to think and that's the end of it.

I make dinner and we eat in relative peace, Prim dropping the subject of Peeta, for now at least. I put her to bed sometime later and retreat to my own room, eager to go to sleep so I don't have to keep thinking the same frustrating thoughts.

I'm both looking forward to and anxious about Saturday. Hopefully Peeta will stop acting so weird. And if he doesn't then I'm going to get to the bottom of his strange behavior once and for all.

I close my eyes and empty my mind. I become heavy and drift into a fitful sleep, unsure of what the weekend will bring.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is guys, the chapter we've all been waiting for! It is my sincere hope that it's not too cheesy, although it very well may be. I plan to continue the story if the interest is still there. Thank you so much for your kind words and all the follows and favorites. That was a rather suspenseful opening so without further ado, here's chapter 7. Enjoy!

I wake up the next morning and stare at the ceiling, willing myself to get up and face the day. I decide that before anything else, I have to go over to the bakery to let Peeta know that Prim won't be coming to dinner. It's Saturday so I'm not working but Peeta will still be at the bakery and I feel like I should let him know about the change of plans. If he doesn't want to have dinner with me without Prim then I want to give him the chance to cancel.

I get dressed quickly and quietly leave the house. It's later than I usually get up but still early and Prim will likely be sleeping for a few more hours. I embark on the walk to the bakery and think of what I'm going to say. I don't know why I'm agonizing over the placement of my words so much but there's a sense of anxiety inside me at the thought of facing Peeta by myself when I'm not working.

I reach the back door of the bakery and knock hesitantly, shuffling from foot to foot as I wait for Peeta to answer.

He opens the door and I see the familiar flushed cheeks and curly hair, complemented by one of his cozy sweaters. He looks confused at my presence and also a hint worried.

"Katniss?" He says, his brows creasing in concern. "Is everything ok?"

"Everything's fine," I say quickly, not wanting him to worry for a second loner than necessary. "I just wanted to let you know that Prim isn't going to be able to make it to dinner tonight. She has a sleepover with a friend." I say whilst fiddling with the hem of my sweater, uncharacteristically nervous that he will not want to have dinner with me if my sister isn't there.

"Oh, ok. That's ok. Do you still want to come over?" He asks, his features mimicking the anxiety I feel.

"If you still want me to." I say, hating how pathetic I sound.

"Of course! It would be my pleasure." He says hastily, quick to reassure me that he still wants my company.

I smile at him, relieved that he still wants to have dinner and also embarrassed that I cared so much. It's going to painfully awkward, I know that much, but I still find myself looking forward to the prospect of spending time with him without the pretense of work.

"Great. Well, I'll let you get back to work. I'll see you at six?" I look to him for confirmation and find him beaming at me with a nervous but content smile.

"See you at six. "

"Goodbye, Peeta," I add bashfully, unsure of myself but not wanting to leave unceremoniously.

"Goodbye, Katniss," He indulges me with his customary goodbye, smiling happily at me as I retreat.

I make the walk home, my mood brightened by our simple but positive interaction. I go back to sleep for a couple hours until I'm awakened by Prim asking me to make breakfast.

The day passes lazily, as Saturday's often do. Prim and I read and tend to Lady and have a picnic together. It's all very nice and relaxed but there's a nagging voice in my head, reminding me of my nerves and how anxious I am about this evening.

Prim seems to read my mind and assures me on multiple occasions that everything will go beautifully and Peeta's crush on me is so great that I could say anything and he would still like me. I roll my eyes at her, unwilling to engage in her childish romantic fantasies. I'm still convinced that Peeta simply does not like me in that way and has never even thought about it. I don't know where Prim got her fantastical ideas but she's wrong.

Despite her gentle teasing throughout the day, she is very helpful when 4 o'clock rolls around and she's going to be picked up soon. She helps me pick out an outfit, a navy blue dress this time, with a rather defined waistline and delicate little buttons all down the front. Prim assures me that it looks lovely on me and that Peeta will be absolutely smitten.

She does my hair differently this time by putting half of it up and away from my face, securing it with one of her cherished ribbons. I must admit that it does look rather nice.

She has a way of putting everything together. Separately, the dress and the hair were nice enough, but together I find that there's a certain elegance about them. Prim has managed to make me look like I actually know how to dress myself, something that's no small feat.

When her friend's mother comes to pick her up I see her to the door and make sure she has everything she needs. I tell her that she can come home if she gets homesick, as this is her first sleepover. I'm worried about her being sad or missing me, but I know that she'll be fine. It's for the best that I have plans tonight, otherwise I would sit at home worrying sick about her all night.

By the time Prim leaves, I only have a few minutes before Peeta is set to arrive. I fiddle with my hair a bit and make sure that all the buttons are straight on my dress. With everything in order, I sit impatiently on the living room sofa, watching the seconds pass on the clock. It's all terribly pathetic and embarrassing.

In the midst of scolding myself for my foolishness, I hear Peeta's car pull up and force myself to wait for him to knock before I open the door.

When he knocks, I answer nervously, feeling terribly inadequate when I see him. Like last time, he's wearing a nice dress shirt and pants, both of which I'm surprised to find that he's ironed. He looks even more handsome than usual and consequently, I feel myself getting more flustered than I usually do.

He's nervous, as he often is, but obviously happy and beams at me with an excited grin. I can't help but return it, forgetting my earlier thoughts of inadequacy.

"Hi, Peeta," I greet him softly, smiling back at him.

"Good Evening, Katniss," He says, his formal greeting made sweet by his goofy grin. "Are you ready?" He asks, stepping to the side of my porch to allow me to come outside.

"Yes," I tell him as I leave the threshold, turning around to lock the door behind me and then following him to his car. Most people don't lock their doors but I'm always extra cautious, having known what it's like to not be able to afford to replace anything.

He opens the door for me and I climb in to his car, fidgeting a bit as he comes around to the driver's seat. He starts the car and leaves my little house behind, silence descending on the cab. There's a nervous tension about us, the previous easiness of conversation gone with Prim. There's more room on the seat now that she's not here, but I still find myself as close to the door as humanely possible. It's not because I don't want to be near Peeta, I just don't know what to do with myself and don't want to infringe on his space.

He maneuvers the car expertly, obviously a very experienced driver. As the ride continues, I find Prim's words about Peeta having a crush on me bouncing around in my head. I've easily dismissed those thoughts before, but I find myself feeling a sort of childlike hope that it's true. Logically, I know it's not true and I shouldn't even want Peeta in that way. But sitting next to him, I finally let myself want him. Physically, emotionally, romantically. Something about him both excites and calms me and I reflect on the time I've known him and everything I've learned.

As the silence continues, I think about all the easy conversations we've shared at the bakery, all the parts of myself that I've shared with him. Being with him is usually easy and fun, despite brief periods in which awkwardness seems to get the best of us. For the first time in my life, I actually care about what someone thinks of me and I realize that's why I've always felt so self-conscious around Peeta.

It's difficult to come to the realization that I would like to possibly date him, only to be faced with the cold reality that he doesn't want me. He's expressed just about zero interest in me and the thought makes me sullen, quietly introspective until we arrive at his beautiful home.

He clears his throat once he puts the car in park and does that adorable little jog to come open my door for me. He offers me his hand to help me get out and I surprise myself by taking it, desperate for any contact he'll offer me.

His hand is a little sweaty, something I can tell he's self conscious about. Once I'm out of the car, he withdraws his hand and tries to covertly dry it on his pants, his cheeks becoming ever redder in the process.

He guides me to the door, his anxiety rolling off of him in waves. I can understand him feeling awkward but anxious? I don't know why he would be anxious about having me over.

I find out why when he opens the door and steps to the side, watching me closely as I enter the house.

There are candles everywhere, the soft glow accented by the setting sun streaming through the partially covered windows. The table is set like before, but this time with two place settings and a lovely vase of wildflowers between them.

Everything is spotless and impeccably in order, the house even more stunning than the last time I saw it. His home is beautiful, no doubt, but it's taken on a sweetness that is uniquely Peeta.

I smell bread, fresh and delectable. Something sweet and something savory also tints the air, the aroma adding to the severity with which I've been pleasantly surprised.

I forget myself for a moment, walking slowly through the living and dining area, surveying the transformation that's taken place. I notice something that I hadn't before.

There are paintings tastefully placed throughout the area, a good number of them, each more gorgeous and realistic than the last. I realize that they are the same paintings from the bakery, the ones that I had first noticed on that cold, fateful day on which Peeta had offered me a job.

When I look over at Peeta, he's standing by the front door, an intense mixture of anxiety and hopefulness on his face. Something dawns on me, sharp and overwhelming. It feels like everything is coming together all of a sudden, the solution to the problems that have plagued me the last few days suddenly becoming painfully obvious.

I've been too blind, too oblivious, to see what's been happening this entire time. Peeta, sensitive Peeta, has worn his heart on his sleeve, patiently waiting for me to see it and realize what he's been trying to tell me all along. I can see it, plain as day on his face, the hope he feels that I will see what he's trying to tell me, that I will reciprocate.

Peeta's a painter. I don't know how I didn't realize that the same man that I spent so much time with had carefully created those paintings that I had appreciated everyday. Only someone as gentle and loving as him could see such ordinary things in such extraordinary detail. A dandelion, an overgrown meadow, a dilapidated barn. All rendered in a way that shows how differently he sees them. His paintings all show that he possesses a tenderness that allows him to see below the surface, to find beauty that no one had seen before. I realize that same quality of being able to appreciate the dull and the overlooked has led him to notice me, to seek out my attention, to draw me out of my shell.

Prim was right. Peeta does like me, he's liked me all along. I remember that day not so long ago when he told me that he would do anything for my sister and I, when he couldn't tell me why. I remember every little gesture of kindness and affection he's showed me, every painstaking effort to make me realize how much he cared. I remember every smile and nervous expression he's shown me, all the kind words and conversations.

I look at him, really look at him, and find all my thoughts confirmed in his face. The candles, the tidiness, the additional invitation to dinner have all been his way of telling me that he likes me, that he appreciates me for what I am.

His expression changes suddenly, instantly becoming one of worry and concern. He rushes over to me, hesitant to touch me but arms outstretched in an attempt to comfort.

"Katniss," He says, his voice laced with profound worry that he has done something wrong. "Why are you crying?"

I'm confused by his question, as surely I'm not crying. But my fingers come away wet when I place them on my cheeks to confirm. I am crying, but I don't feel sad.

I feel happy. I feel so overwhelmed with emotion that it has seemed to spill out of me. All the gratitude, all the astonishment, all the affection, the joy, it's too much to process and it appears that tears have arisen to act as an outlet for my feelings.

"I don't know," I say, unsure of how to explain all the different thoughts and feelings that have coursed through me in the last minute. "I think I'm happy."

He looks confused, rightfully so, and I can't explain, can't make him understand how clueless I am, how I've finally just now realized.

So I do the only thing that seems adequate and I hug him. I practically pounce on him, desperate to make him understand that I get it, that I know how he feels, and most importantly, that I want him too. I want him so badly.

He hugs me back, hesitant and baffled by my volatile behavior but willing to indulge me. I cling to him, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck, not willing to let go.

His arms are wrapped around me, his hands resting gently on the small of my back. I move my face to burrow into his neck, inhaling his scent of cinnamon and soap. I feel the curls that I love so much tickling my forehead, their downy softness making me nuzzle further into him.

I can feel his pulse racing and feel momentarily remorseful that I'm holding him in suspense. But I can't let go yet, I can't think of the words to explain. We must stand like that for 5 minutes, me wrapped around him, him gently confused. At some point he starts rubbing my back, small tender circles that feel impossibly good. I squeeze him tighter, desperate to communicate what I've been repressing all this time, that I like him, that I want to be close to him.

After what feels like both an eternity and not long enough, I disentangle myself from him. I step back slowly, not wanting to part from the warmth and comfort of him. He looks both elated and confused, an endearing half smile on his face and drawn eyebrows looking back at me.

"Are you ok?" He asks timidly, unsure of how to approach me in light of my uncharacteristic display of emotion.

"I'm great," I say sincerely, smiling at him, gathering the courage to bring my thoughts and feelings out in the open. I take his hand, his big warm hand, and lead him over to the couch. He follows me like a confused puppy, eager to please but utterly baffled.

He stares at me openly, waiting for me to speak. I gather myself by taking a deep breath and look into his eyes, the hope there being all the encouragement I need.

"I'm sorry I'm acting so weird, I….. I just realized everything all at once. I realized that those paintings are yours, and Peeta, it just hit me. It hit me how gentle you are, how talented and sensitive you are. Just looking at those paintings and seeing how you're able to take something so ordinary, so ugly, and make it look so beautiful. It made me realize that you've done the same thing with me. You saw something in me and you offered me a job and your friendship, you drew me out of my shell, you made me feel things I've never felt before," I'm crying again, silent tears streaming down my face as I look into his eyes, willing him to understand everything I'm trying to say.

"Being here in your home, with the candles and the paintings and you all nervous, waiting for my reaction, it made me realize what I hadn't allowed myself to believe. For the past few weeks I've tried to suppress my feelings for you because they scared me but I think that you feel the same way I do? I hope so at least. You're just about the greatest person I've ever met and you've given me so much and I'm sorry I'm crying again but I've never felt so many things at one time before." The words fly out of me, no forethought or formulation to make me sound less unhinged or desperate. But I think it's ok, I think I said what I needed to. I think he understands.

He's looking at me with a burning intensity, adoration and admiration and something like wonder boring into me from his impossibly blue eyes. He's misty eyed too, not crying but close.

He takes my hand again and holds it in both of his. He looks exactly how I felt a moment ago, overcome with emotion, unable to speak. But he opens his mouth and never looks away from me, all the previous anxiety dissolved in light of my confession.

"Katniss," He says, almost as if it pains him. "Katniss, I've noticed you since we were little kids. I've wanted to be your friend, just to know you, forever. I saw you suffer silently for years and it killed me. I saw the way you cared for your sister and it made me feel such a profound respect for you. I wanted to help you about a million times, any way I could, but my own anxiety and fear of you rejecting me always made me stand by, silently wishing that I had the courage to approach you, to tell you how I felt, how I still feel." He pauses, taking a deep breath as a single tear falls down his cheek.

"You're the most beautiful, courageous, loving, strong woman I've ever met. Getting to know you these past few weeks has been the best experience of my life. I knew you were amazing but I had no idea how much, how funny and smart and capable you are. It's been so hard not having you know how I feel about you, but I was always so scared that you wouldn't want me in that way. And I value our friendship more than anything, I never wanted to ruin it. So I invited you here and tried to make it nice and was planning on telling you. And god, I was so nervous. Do you really like me, Katniss? Am I dreaming right now?" He finishes his speech on a sigh, visibly deflating from the vulnerability he's just displayed.

His words are so impossibly sweet and perfect and I can't believe this is happening right now, that he feels that strongly about me. This gentle, sensitive, incredible boy has just told me that he all but loves me. That every time I've felt inadequate or stupid, that he's felt the same way. I think of how silly it is, that I couldn't see what was right in front of me this entire time, that I couldn't end both of our suffering. But everything's out in the open now and I've never felt more relieved.

I reach out the hand that's not holding Peeta's, reaching for his face. I place it gently on his cheek, like I'm touching a butterfly that I'm terrified will fly away. I wipe his tears with my thumb and he leans into my hand, closing his eyes and letting out a shuddering breath.

"I really like you, Peeta. I like you so much, you have no idea. And this is very real, at least I hope it is." We both let out a light, exhausted chuckle, both of us stripped bare and vulnerable for each other.

Peeta places the lightest kiss on my palm, unsure of himself, gauging my reaction. His lip brushing my hand is the single best thing I think I've ever felt, a tingling sensation spreading up my arm. If this feels this good I can't imagine what it would feel like to have him kissing me, his lips on mine, his lips other places.

I have to take a deep breath to steady myself. While I'm terribly relieved that we've both laid our feelings out in the open and mine are reciprocated, I don't want to push this too fast. I get the feeling that if I kissed him right now I wouldn't stop, and I don't want our first kiss to be in an emotional haze. I want to be fully aware, I want to have time to process everything, and I want to remember every detail.

I brush my thumb over his cheekbone once more in response to his kiss, all the while marveling at the impossible beauty of him. His eyes are closed and his long lashes, dampened by tears, are mesmerizing. His skin is so soft, everything about him so pure and perfect.

He gathers himself and lifts his head. He looks at me, all the raw emotion he just expressed clear in his eyes. He reaches out for me and gently enfolds me in his strong arms.

We sit like that, curled into each other, nuzzled into each other on the couch for a long time. And there's no place I'd rather be.

The only thought that comes to my emotion singed brain while I'm nuzzled into his neck is that Prim was right. She was so right.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you so much for your support and reviews, I am continuing with the story as you can see. I hope you all continue to enjoy it. Please review and let me know how it's going. Let me know if there's anything you'd like to see and what you think. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to mention them in a review or message me and I will absolutely get back to you. Anyway, thanks so much to all of you for reading, your viewership and support means a lot to me. Enjoy!

When we finally disentangle ourselves from each other, I feel a sense of calm that is entirely new and completely pleasant. I look at Peeta with a big smile on my face and find him looking down at me with adoration and a timid, goofy grin.

I don't want to leave his embrace but I unfortunately can't stay in his arms all night and I'm starving. My stomach rumbles and we both chuckle, a little bit of awkwardness setting in now that everything's out in the open.

Peeta takes my hand and leads me up from the couch to the dining room table. He pulls out my chair for me and tucks it back in, his hand gently touching my shoulder as he leaves to get the food.

He comes back with two plates, both as mouthwatering as before. The sun has set now and everything's illuminated by the soft glow of the candles, including the incredible looking food he's just set in front of me.

Tonight's meal is one of a wide but flat, fresh looking pasta with a chunky marinara sauce and meatballs. On the side is an equally fresh salad with bits of juicy sun dried tomato and cucumber. Peeta goes back into the kitchen for a moment only to reappear with a bottle of red wine and a basket of steaming cheese buns.

I'm salivating, unbelievably excited to try all this amazing food he's prepared. He comes around to my side and fills up the wine glass at my place setting with a small amount of amber liquid and then seats himself and pours himself a similar amount.

"You don't have to drink the wine if you don't want to," He says, looking at me timidly but with something like excitement tinting his expression.

"I've never had wine before, quite honestly," I say bashfully as I place my napkin on my lap, trying to be polite and not make a fool of myself by digging in right away.

"Oh," He says, surprised at my admission, "Well I hope you like it. It goes well with the pasta."

At that, he takes a bite of his own food and I give myself permission to eat. I take a big bite of the pasta and marinara sauce and close my eyes, wondering if Peeta will ever make me a meal that's not extraordinary. The pasta is soft and cooked perfectly, much better than the kind I've had once before on a particularly good night. I savor the food and take a sip of the wine. Its taste is surprising, bitter and tart and slightly overwhelming. I can't say that it's the best drink I've ever had but it warms my throat pleasantly as it goes down and I could see myself getting used to it.

"This is incredible, Peeta. Once again, you've outdone yourself." I look to him to find him looking at me intently, an amused smile crinkling his gorgeous eyes.

"I'm so glad you like it, Katniss, it was my first time making pasta so I didn't know how it would turn out." He takes a bite of his own food and I take the chance to sample all the other offerings, finding both of them delectable, as I knew they would be.

I can't begin to imagine how he made all this from scratch, by himself nonetheless, but I'm more than happy to sit back and enjoy the fruits of his labor. The rest of the meal passes in silence, as I don't break much in my eating. We share occasional glances at each other, mostly me being self-conscious and Peeta watching me with a look of amusement and adoration. I can only hope that he enjoys watching me eat as much as I love eating his amazing food.

I've drained my modest glass of wine by the time he clears my plate and I find a warm, fuzzy feeling enveloping me. I find it nice and suddenly understand why people drink alcohol, despite the less than appealing taste.

"Would you like some more wine?" Peeta asks and I nod with a quiet "Yes, Please." He pours me a tiny bit more, less than he did the first time and I appreciate the fact that he seems to be aware of how it might be making me feel and not trying to get me too tipsy.

I feel more relaxed than I did earlier, partly because of the wine but mostly because of the great outpouring of emotion we've both shared. In a moment of courage, I stand up and take Peeta's hand when he's done pouring more wine for us. I lead both of us, each carrying our glasses, over to the couch where we sit down rather close together. I don't let go of his hand and look up at him to find him looking down at me, something like wonder and admiration on his face.

"I've had an amazing night, Peeta," I tell him, impossible for me to be more sincere.

"I'm so glad," He says softly, as though he can't believe that I'm on his couch, holding his hand.

I feel so content in that moment that I drain the rest of my glass before setting it down on the coffee table and lay my back against his chest, not caring about how it might be awkward or how he might not want me to. He puts his glass down too and slips his arms around me, holding me snug against his broad chest.

I feel so safe and secure in that moment, more relaxed than I think I've ever felt. I can feel the rise and fall of his somewhat unsteady breathing beneath me, I can his big hands encompassing mine on top of my stomach. I lean back further, wanting to burrow into him, to never let go of his solid warmth. I sigh as his thumb begins to make small, soothing circles on the outsides of my hands. I sink even further into this feeling of pure joy and contentment. I let it encompass me until there's nothing left in the entire world but this feeling, this knowledge that everything will be ok as long as I'm here.

The next thing I know I'm being awakened gently by Peeta, his soft breath tickling the side of my face.

"Katniss," He whispers, not wanting to disturb me but needing me to wake up.

I'm still half asleep and not ready to come back to the real world, to let this magnificent feeling slip away. I don't think I ever will be.

"Katniss," He repeats, a soft melodic cadence to his voice that only makes me want to sink down further. "Katniss, sweetheart," He places the most gentle, tender kiss to my temple. I feel my skin tingle from his lips and it awakens me slightly; I'm still sleepy but more aware.

"I have to take you home, sweetheart," I hear him call me sweetheart again and I melt, a pleasant warmth coursing through me unrelated to the alcohol. I'm not one for such overt and corny displays of affection, or at least I thought, but I find that it feels entirely different to be the recipient of such a pet name rather than witnessing it. The fact that it's from Peeta doesn't hurt either.

I stir slightly, moaning a bit to express my reluctance to move. Peeta squeezes me tighter and then sits up. I open my eyes and realize that we were reclined on the couch, his back resting against the arm while I was nestled in between his legs. I move out from between him, a bit embarrassed that I had put us in such a position. Peeta doesn't seem to have minded in the slightest though, as he has a tired but goofy grin on his face.

"I'm sorry to wake you but it's getting late and I want to make sure you're home in case Prim needs you," He tells me as he takes my hand and rubs those same little comforting circles on my palm.

I'm touched by his overwhelming thoughtfulness. Between the candlelit dinner and his eloquent confession, holding me while I napped and showing concern for my sister. I hug him, needing one last embrace before the night comes to an end.

He hugs me back, not reluctant this time, enveloping me with the big warm arms that I was so comfortably lost in just a moment ago. I'm still groggy and I don't want to go but he's right, I do need to be home in case Prim comes home early. And even if she doesn't, god forbid that she arrived home in the morning before I did and found I wasn't there. If she saw Peeta drop me off I would never hear the end of it.

The thought is not a pleasant one and it reminds me of the smug look she's going to have on her face when I tell her what happened tonight. I suppose she's earned a little smugness though, she was absolutely, painfully correct in all her predictions.

Peeta and I let go of each other and he stands up and takes me hand, leading me slowly to the doorway. He puts his hand gently at the small of my back as we walk to his car, steadying me as I sway slightly.

He helps me climb into his car by keeping hold of me while I unceremoniously hoist myself up and plop down onto the seat. He smiles fondly and carefully closes the door, making sure I'm all the way inside the car before he does.

He walks around and gets in, careful not to jostle the car too much or slam the door to disturb me in my groggy state. He starts the car and drives me back to my house. At some point someone's hand – I'm not sure if it's mine or his – reaches across the seat to join the other's. I scoot towards him at the contact, stopping just close enough to rest my head on his shoulder.

We pull up to my home a few minutes later and he turns off the car. We just sit there for a moment, both of us not wanting to move and disturb the other. He moves a hand to smooth my hair back slightly and presses another gentle kiss to my temple. I close my eyes, savoring the gentle contact and how his soft, plump lips feel on my tender skin. It feels exciting but also comforting and natural.

It's over too soon and he sits me up gently, taking care to ensure I won't fall over before he gets out of the car and comes around to my side. He opens the door and reaches his hands inside, offering his assistance. He has a gentle, sleepy but content smile on his face and I take his hands, not wanting to leave but more than happy to feel his touch again. He supports me as I hop down, stumbling a bit into him before he steadies me by the shoulders.

He puts his arm around my shoulders and I lean into his side as we walk up to my doorstep. I turn to him, both deliriously happy at the night's developments and sad that I can't spend the entire night wrapped securely in his arms. We're both smiling softly at each other, words not enough to express what we're both feeling. I take his hand again, briefly, and squeeze it, trying to communicate everything I'm feeling, the intense hope and gratitude I have.

He does the same, a soft squeeze and a smile telling me that he feels the same. I slowly release his hand to retrieve the key from the pocket of my dress, turning to fumble with the lock and finally open the door. I turn to him as I'm about to enter the threshold and put an end to our evening.

"Goodnight, Peeta."

"Goodnight, Katniss," He says, smiling a big happy smile back at me.

I force myself to go inside and take one last look at him before I close the door softly. I take in his unruly curly hair and his plump lips and his blue eyes. I take in the way he smiles at me, like I've just put the stars in the sky. I watch him through the window as he goes back up the driveway and finally drives away in his car.

I trudge up the stairs to my room and barely manage to take my shoes off before I collapse on the bed. I go under the covers and feel the darkness of sleep start to crowd out my thoughts.

I do manage to think one coherent thought before I go to bed, though. It's a thought of incredulous wonder at why the hell I didn't just kiss him.

Prim wakes me up around 8 o'clock, earlier than I want to get up but later than I should. She's excited and hungry, a combination that prompts her to chatter enthusiastically while dragging me into the kitchen. I make her oatmeal, still too groggy to talk, but that doesn't stop her from questioning me mercilessly.

"Katniss! I need to know! What happened last night? How did it go?" She assaults me with her high pitched voice as I set her honey drizzled oatmeal in front of her. I sit down next to her and take a deep breath, trying to think of a way to satisfactorily describe everything that transpired last night.

"It went really well," I say, at which she beams at me. "I went over and he had prepared another fabulous dinner but this time he'd lit a bunch of candles and picked some flowers. I was looking at the paintings on his walls and I realized that they were by the same person who did the paintings at the bakery. I realized he painted them."

"He painted those? They were so pretty!" She interrupts me excitedly.

"He did. I was surprised too. Something about seeing the way he was able to paint such ordinary things so beautifully made me realize that you were right. I started crying because I was so happy. I realized that he did like me and that I like him too. We sat on the couch and told each other how we felt and he told me that he's liked me for a long time and he's really enjoyed getting to know me. We hugged and then we ate dinner and he took me home." I purposefully leave out the part about all the touches and the fervor with which he told me why he liked me. I leave out the part where I feel asleep on him and he held me. I don't want to fry Prim's brain with how very cliché and romantic it all was. Anymore than I already have anyway.

"Katniss!" She squeals and squirms a little bit in her chair, turning to look at me with excitement, hope, and a tad bit of smugness.

"I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!" She can hardly contain herself and while I would normally find it endearing, it's a bit too early for her current level of enthusiasm.

"Calm down, Prim," I say, holding my sleep addled head. "You were right and I was oblivious and all that, let's just move on."

"Yes, Katniss, I was right, and you were very oblivious about the whole thing. But more than that, I'm so excited that you've both finally gathered the courage to just talk to each other! You two are so incredibly perfect for each other, I can't wait until you get married and have adorable little babies." That statement wakes me up a bit. She's staring up at me, a far away, dreamy expression on her face, as though this is all one big fairy tale.

"Slow down, Prim. No one's getting married and having babies. We both like each other and that's all very nice so we're just going to see where this goes, ok? Please don't ever say anything about us getting married or anything like that to him."

"Ok, Katniss, if you say so," Her voice takes on the same tone it had when she told me how much Peeta liked me. "But you should be a little bit more excited. I mean, have you seen Peeta? He's so handsome!"

I groan, not prepared for my little sister to lecture me on how attractive Peeta is. I'm painfully aware.

"That's enough, Prim. He's been very nice to us and I'm happy that he likes me. I don't want you having any grand expectations. We'll see what happens, but I don't want you being all disappointed when Peeta doesn't manifest into prince charming and ride up on a pony or something silly like that."

She goes back to eating her breakfast but looks at me through the corners of her eyes. "I'm not saying that I expect that to happen. I'm just saying that he makes you very happy and you obviously make him very happy and you guys are so cute together, it just makes a lot of sense that you two would be together. You just need to keep an open mind, Katniss. I know your emotions scare you sometimes but that's no reason to push him away. He cares an awful lot about you and you need to be ready to accept that."

The transition from excited schoolgirl to sage advice giver leaves me a bit stunned. So does the accuracy with which she's been able to read me. My emotions do scare me sometimes and it's hard for me to accept that anyone as great as Peeta would care so much about me. Despite my inability to understand it, Peeta obviously does care about me. And I'm just now letting myself realize that I care about him too. Just as much, if not more than he seems to care about me.

"Thank you, Prim," I say and hug her, to which she embraces me back. When we pull back she goes back to her food, seemingly satisfied with herself and the insight she's managed to impart on me.

I go upstairs to change my clothes from last night and take a nice, relaxing bath. While I'm in the tub I think about the sudden development of our relationship from friendship to something more. It does scare me, simply because I've never done this type of thing before. I've never had someone take an interest in me. I've never wanted them back.

Thoughts of Peeta's feelings drift to thoughts of Peeta, more specifically how beautiful he is. Beautiful usually isn't a word used to describe a man but I think it fits him perfectly. While he's undeniably strong and masculine, he's also gentle and there's a certain softness to him. Between his long eyelashes and his thick, curly, impossibly soft hair, he's the perfect mix of delicate features and masculine strength.

Thinking about him in this way gets me feeling all warm and tingly, similar to how I felt that night that I touched myself. The memory reminds me of how good it felt and how it quelled the fire burning inside me.

I think briefly that my sister is downstairs, that she might hear me, that I probably shouldn't be thinking about Peeta while I touch myself. And then I decide I don't care. The aching and throbbing is too intense, too overwhelming, for me to consider not satisfying myself.

I tentatively slip my hand between my thighs and find that special spot, making me relax further into the tub, sending the water rippling with my movement. I'm more familiar and less hesitant this time, when I find a rhythm and rub small, tight circles around the spot that unfailingly gives me such intense pleasure.

As the moments wear on and my pace and the pressure of my fingertips pick up, I feel myself succumbing to the same feeling of bliss that I felt before. I find myself sinking further and further into my own little world, barely registering the water lapping softly around me.

The only thing that exists in this moment is Peeta and I. The way his touch felt and how his arms were able to encompass me so completely. How his hand at the small of my back sent shivers up my spine.

I relive every lingering touch he's given me and how electrified it made me feel. I think about his gorgeous features and his goofy smiles.

The feeling builds until it comes to a climax, an overwhelming warmth and euphoria spreading through me. It feel so incredible and relaxing as I lie in the tub, water splashing around me, my labored breathing slowing down.

Before I know it I'm drifting off to sleep wishing Peeta's arms were wrapped around me.

I wake up about an hour later, the water now tepid and still. I drag my pruned body out of the tub and dry off, trying to not fall over while I do so. I get dressed in my most worn pants and a long sleeve shirt. The shirt is a tad too small and clings to me a little too tightly, but it's just Prim and I so I figure it doesn't matter. I forgo a bra, as I usually do, hardly needing the support for my small breasts.

I head downstairs to see what Prim is up to and find her in the backyard, talking to Lady while she brushes her. I go to make myself a cup of tea but hear a knock on my way to the kitchen.

I'm more than a little surprised and wary as to why someone would come to my house. I tentatively open it, holding it open just enough for me to see how it is.

What greets me on my doorstep is Peeta, in a pair of his own worn pants and a sweater. As soon as I see that it's him I open the door wider, not wanting him to think that I don't want him there. I realize too late that I should probably put a robe or something on to cover myself.

After I open the door Peeta's eyes travel my form, staying on my torso a tad too long. When he looks up at me he's blushing, no doubt surprised by seeing me in anything form fitting. I'm blushing too, mortified that he can so clearly see the outline of my breasts and nipples through the thin fabric.

"Good Morning, Katniss," He says, still blushing but smiling again and determined to maintain eye contact.

"Hi, Peeta," I say softly, embarrassed and ready to be out of his sight.

He produces a bouquet of flowers that he had been hiding behind his back. They're beautiful, and I can tell they're from the meadow, the one that he painted so masterfully. There are a few carnations from his garden, in addition to dandelions, which I realize he must be fond of. I look closer and I find that there are even a few katniss flowers and primroses mixed in the bunch. He must have spent hours trying to find these different flowers, all of which hold a great significance to me.

He's studying me closely, anxious to see how I feel about him bringing me flowers. I smile gently, thoroughly touched by yet another display of thoughtfulness. I move from the threshold and hug him, the only way I know how to properly express my gratitude.

He hugs me back, holding me in those strong arms that I was imaging just a little while ago. I blush at the thought but squeeze him tighter, willing myself to memorize the feel of him.

We both let go after a long minute and he smiles his goofy grin at me, understanding how much the gesture means to me. I take the flowers and inhale deeply, savoring their sweet scent. I hold them close to my chest, partly to cover myself up and partly out of adoration, at which he looks at me adoringly but still a bit nervous.

"I just wanted to come by and say thank you for last night. It was incredible and I wanted to let you know that I was thinking of you," He says while looking up at me through his lashes, anxiety and sincerity pouring off of him.

"Thank you so much, Peeta. They're beautiful and I really appreciate you coming by. I feel the same way about last night and I've been thinking about you too." I add the last part quietly, as it strikes me that I've probably been thinking about him a little too much. Luckily he doesn't know that. He looks nervous again and unsure of what to say. He runs his hand through his hair and rubs the back of his neck, unknowingly taunting me with his downy curls.

"Umm… I was... I was also wondering if…. If maybe you wanted to do something like that again sometime? It doesn't have to be dinner at my house again, though it can be. We could do whatever you want…" He stutters out, his face as red as when he asked me to dinner the last time. I think his request is adorable and also exciting that he's basically asking me out on a date.

"I would love to." I smile at him, hugging my flowers to me tighter, feeling silly and happy. He's visibly relieved at my words, resuming the same goofy grin he had before.

"Great," He says which he punctuates with an even bigger smile and a look at the ground to compose himself.

"Well, have a good day, Katniss." He tells me and I smile back at him as I let myself feel the happiness without trying to tell myself that I shouldn't get my hopes up. I like Peeta and it's clear he likes me; It's fine that I'm hopeful. I'm taking Prim's advice and not letting my self-sabotaging instincts get in the way.

"Have a good day, Peeta." I echo and he gives me one last look of pure adoration and happiness before turning around and heading back to his car. I watch him on the front porch, immobile, forgetting about my shirt and how silly I look. He drives away and I go back inside.

I close my eyes and lean with my back against the door for a moment, sniffing the flowers and smiling giddily to myself.

When I open my eyes I find Prim is in the entryway, a mix or pure delight and self-righteousness looking back at me.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here’s the next chapter, I hope it isn’t overly saccharine or cheesy, if it is let me know. Thank you so incredibly much to everyone who’s followed or favorited or reviewed. It’s always really nice to check the stats on the story and find that someone left a review for me to read! Also a quick note; this chapter deals a bit with grief and the loss of close loved ones (specifically parents), so if that hits too close to home you might want to sit out parts of this chapter. Enjoy!

The remainder of the weekend passes as it usually does, Prim and I lazing around before we have to go back to school and work. It seems like Peeta is never far from my mind. No matter what I’m doing, memories or thoughts of him creep up and more often than not, I find myself smiling like an idiot. 

Prim catches me multiple times and looks at me knowingly, reading me like a book once again. As soon as I told her what Peeta had said when he showed up at our door she did her squeal and excited little dance, right before telling me how adorable it all was. For the rest of the weekend, she took any opportunity to tell me how we should do this or that or how lucky I was or something equally characteristic of a little girl that idolizes romantic fairytales. 

I must admit that some of her ideas were pretty good, though. She suggested that we have a picnic in the meadow for our first date or I invite him to have dinner at our house. They’re both good ideas but the thought of cooking for Peeta after he served me such gourmet fare makes me mortified; I know that nothing I could make would ever come close to the quality of his food. She also suggests that we take a drive in his car down to a hill at the edge of town. That spot is well known for being a popular make out spot and I know very well she knew that when she suggested it. Prim feels the need to play the inappropriately aged, sly little wing-woman. She seems to think I’m incompetent of handling this dating thing on my own and she’s probably right. 

I think about how we will probably kiss the next time we do something together and the thought both terrifies and excites me. I’ve never kissed anyone before and I’m worried that I’ll make a fool of myself. Peeta hasn’t dated much but I’m positive that he’s at least kissed someone before, probably having done much more. I worry about my lack of experience but try to calm down, reminding myself that Peeta will be very sweet and gentle and I’m sure he won’t think any less of me. Still, I want to be good when the time comes, I want to surprise him and make him feel as incredible as he makes me. 

I push those thoughts aside as I get ready, it being the early hours of Monday morning and a workday. I go about my usual routine and head down to the bakery at the usual time, once again excited to see Peeta. 

He opens the door for me before I even have time to knock, obviously eagerly anticipating my arrival. 

“Katniss! Good morning,” He says enthusiastically, one of his big, sincere smiles looking down at me. I enter the bakery and return the sentiment, telling him good morning in return. 

He looks so happy and impossibly handsome I can barely stand it. As usual, he’s wearing one of his thick sweaters that do me no favors in terms of trying not to think about how solid and muscular he is. His hair is as unruly and downy-looking as ever, complemented by his ruddy cheeks. He’s positively beaming, his eyes alight with a joy that I’ve never seen in this intensity. I was in a pretty good mood already but seeing him so happy elevates it further, leaving me smiling just as wide back at him, staring, unable to get enough of him. 

I see that he’s made something different for our breakfast this morning; the delectable smells wafting around the small space. I try to see what he’s made but find he hasn’t plated anything yet, everything either still cooking or covered with a dishtowel. 

“I made biscuits and some crispy potatoes, I hope that sounds good.” He goes over to the oven and takes out a tray of warm, steaming biscuits, their scent filling the space completely and making my hunger more apparent. He places the tray on the countertop where he has already set out glasses of water and plates and napkins. He goes over to the stovetop and lifts the dishtowel off the cast iron pan, revealing a bed of perfectly browned potato on which he sets on a potholder next to the biscuits. 

He makes up a plate for me and smiles, beckoning me to come sit down. I take a place next to him and wait to start eating until he serves himself and sits down. He looks at me fondly, his sincere smile making his eyes crinkle and my heart seems to skip a beat. He’s radiant with joy and I can’t help but reflect it, looking back at him with what I know is an expression Prim would tease me for. 

We share the delicious meal in silence, only pausing to look over at each other occasionally. I catch him staring at me a couple times, and he catches me doing the same. We just blush and look down again, neither of us having the words or courage to speak up. 

Once we’re both finished, I take the plates to the sink and wash them, Peeta standing next to me, waiting to dry the dishes. There are only two plates and some cutlery so it doesn’t take long but a feeling of contentedness washes over me during the act. There’s something so pleasantly domestic about the whole thing, me washing the plate that once held his amazing food, him standing next to me, sleeves rolled up and dishtowel in hand. 

I have a flash of a vision, an image of the two of us doing this everyday, tomorrow, next week, five years from now. I picture myself standing in Peeta’s kitchen, looking out at the carnations and the green lawn. I can almost hear Prim’s voice chattering behind us as Peeta listens to hear intently, nodding along and engaging her. 

It only lasts for a second but it fills me with such an intense wave of emotion, one I’ve only experienced before on the night in Peeta’s home when I was staring at his exquisite rendering of a dandelion. 

I drop the dish abruptly and grip the counter top, the overwhelming emotion subsiding by the time Peeta turns to me, alarmed and concerned. A solitary tear has slipped out of the corner of my eye and he grips my shoulder gently, reaching one hand up to tenderly wipe the tear from my cheekbone. 

“Katniss,” He whispers, worry evident in his tone. “What’s wrong?” He asks gently, as if questioning a child that’s just had a nightmare. 

“Nothing,” I say as I look up at him, smiling, trying to convey that I’m stable besides the fact that this is the second time this has happened in less than a week. “I’m ok, I just had a memory of something really happy and it was really intense for a moment.” I tell him something not far from the truth, the only difference being that it was not a memory but rather a hopeful projection. 

He gathers me in his arms and hugs me tightly to him, his delicious warmth encompassing me while he tenderly pets my hair. 

“Oh, Katniss,” He says, an intense sympathetic and understanding cadence filling my ears. “I’m so sorry. I know how that is. I get really sudden memories of my dad sometimes. I know how devastating it is.” 

I burrow further into him, into this boy that has just shared more of himself with me. Of course he knows what it’s like, he was incredibly close with his father. I remember seeing them in town together, his father holding his hand while a chubby little boy laughed jubilantly at some anecdote. While the deep pang of loss is not what I experienced just now, it is something I have experienced before. 

Sometimes, out of nowhere, I will remember a moment with my parents, something that I had forgotten had happened or thought was lost to the recesses of time, never to be cherished again. It feels like a quick stab of pain, followed by a dull ache that can last hours. It hurts so acutely to remember something positive and joyful, only to come to the realization that it’s over and that it can never be experienced again. 

Sometimes I forget that Peeta, someone I used to think was so different from me, has shared such a defining experience. While he did not lose both of his parents at the same time, and one of them is still alive somewhere, in some ways what happened to him is worse. He never felt the warm affection of a mother, never knew what it was like to have two loving parents who were undoubtedly in love with each other. After experiencing the sudden and earth shattering death of his father, his mother abandoned him. It makes my heart ache profoundly to think of Peeta alone, not only mourning the loss of his father but also the grief of never having a mother that truly loved him. 

I lost my parents but I always knew their love. I never once doubted that they would have done anything for me. I lost them both at once but I was never alone. I had Prim to worry about, to distract myself with. I never had to mourn the loss of a beloved parent while the other was heartlessly berating me to get back to work.

I try my hardest not to cry at the thought, at the realization, but I fail. I sob into Peeta’s chest, his arms tightening around me as he feels me shudder. I’m not crying for myself, or for my parents, or for Prim. I’m crying for the boy that lost his father, that never truly had a mother. I’m crying for the nights he spent alone, nothing but his house and his loneliness surrounding him. 

I think that I was so close, that I’ve been here all along. I was just a couple miles down the road, trying to survive day to day. I hate to think that he was alone and that I could’ve been here. That we could’ve had each other. 

What if we had never found each other? What if Peeta had never gathered the courage to ask me to work here, what if I hadn’t been so desperate that I accepted? Would I have lived my entire life oblivious to this man that was so close, that was so lonely, that secretly respected me, that wanted to know me? That thought somehow hurts worse than all the others. 

He holds me so close to him that I can feel his heart beating through his chest. He makes small hushing sounds and gentle rocking motions in an attempt to quiet my sobs. They subside slowly, but my realization and the profound sense of hollowness I feel at the thought I would’ve lived my life oblivious to him stays with me. 

I back up to look at him, no doubt looking like a particularly haggard possum but not caring. I look at his face, creased with concern and sympathy and I don’t know what to do, have no clue as to how to express how deeply I feel for him. 

I reach up on the tips of my toes so my face reaches his, meanwhile holding on to his arms for balance. I close my eyes and place the gentlest kiss on his forehead. I step back down and let go of him slowly. He looks back at me with a mixture of pure wonder and bewilderment, not sure what to make of my sudden display of emotion and tenderness. 

I don’t have time to feel embarrassed or doubtful of myself, because Peeta smiles a small, concerned smile and I find myself unable to look away from his eyes that are so expressive. 

“I’m ok,” I say as I look at him, attempting to dissolve his confusion. “I’m sorry I’ve been all over the place lately, I’m usually not like this. Thank you for holding me and comforting me, I know that you know exactly what it’s like to miss a parent. I know our situations are different but I want you to know that I’m here, ok? I want you to know that you can always talk to me if you feel sad or lonely. I’m here for you.” I let the words flow out of me, the sentiment borne out of the overwhelming need for him to understand that he can come to me. I can’t bear the thought of him alone in his home, upset and lonely, while Prim and I are merely across town.   
He looks at me with that same look he had the other night, like I put the sun and the moon and the stars in the sky each day. He’s misty eyed, apparently touched by my support. 

“Katniss,” He whispers shakily as he blinks rapidly, trying to hold the tears back. I watch his eyelashes flutter open and closed and wonder how they don’t get tangled, how something as simple as eyelashes could hold my fascination so intensely. 

“Katniss, thank you. I can’t tell you how much just being your friend has helped me. I am always here, too. I know you can, but you don’t have to do everything by yourself.” 

His simple reply gets to me, makes me understand that all my feelings of concern are reciprocated. He understands me. Despite all my efforts to block people out, he has seen right through me. He respects me for what I am but wants to be here, wants to support me exactly how I want to support him. I don’t think there are any words for what passes between us after that exchange. It’s as though something clicks into place. As though another piece of ourselves has been revealed to the other, and we acknowledge it and we accept it. And we want to make it better. 

We let go of each other eventually and move apart, setting about the day’s tasks. The rest of the morning goes by without incident, both of us working beside each other amicably but quietly. Occasionally, a touch will pass between us. Sometimes it’s a touch on the shoulder in passing and others it’s a gentle brushing of the fingertips. Each time we share a glance and a smile, going back to our work with a renewed sense of joy and support. We part ways when it’s time for me to go home with a goodbye and a gentle touch from Peeta on the small of my back as I leave. I go home and go about my chores and tending to Prim, but Peeta is never far from my mind. 

The rest of the week also passes in relative peace and normalcy, no grand emotional epiphanies or nervous inquiries. That is until Friday, around the time I usually go home. Peeta hesitates when he dismisses me to leave, wanting to say something but unable to get it out. Sensing that this is a similar situation to when he asked me to dinner before, I make an effort to ease his nerves. 

“Peeta,” I say as I make my way towards him and the door. “Do you want to do something this weekend? We could do whatever we like and Prim could go play at a friend’s house.” I rush out on a burst of confidence, not wanting to be the first to ask but recognizing that it is obviously what he wanted to say. 

He smiles at me gratefully, recognizing that I noticed his discomfort and did my best to spare him any anxiety. He’s still nervous, but relieved at not having to pose the question of asking me out. I am curious if he would’ve used the word “date”, though. 

“I would love to Katniss, that sounds perfect.” He looks at me with anxiety but also excitement and I can tell he’s winding himself up to say something else.   
“Is there anything in particular you want to do?” He asks and I must admit that I’ve thought about this quite a bit, mulling over different ideas and scenarios in my mind. The entire week Prim has been nagging me about asking Peeta to do something, but I knew he was probably waiting for Friday to bring it up and I didn’t want to rush him. Prim gave me all kinds of ideas of things we could do, some serious and some silly, and I thought about all of them. I decided ultimately though that Peeta would come up with and execute something far better than either my sister or I could. I didn’t want to be responsible for ruining a perfectly good day, which I know would happen if I were planning it. Peeta is thoughtful and sentimental; I know he’d be perfect at deciding what we should do. 

“No, not at all,” I say in a light-hearted tone, smiling, hoping I’m not making him feel like there’s any pressure. While I do think he’d be much better at planning something than I would, I don’t have any expectations. I just want to spend time with him. “How about you pick me up on Saturday and we can do whatever you want to, I’m sure It’ll be perfect.” 

He visibly stiffens and I can tell he’s worried about letting me down or not planning some incredibly romantic, fairytale-esque adventure. I feel the need to reassure him and make him understand that I couldn’t care less what we do, as long as we get to spend some time together. 

“Don’t worry about planning anything fancy. Anything we do will be perfect, ok? I just want to spend some time with you.” He relaxes at that and smiles at me, that same look of wonder and adoration filling his eyes. 

“Ok, that sounds good. I can’t wait. I’ll pick you up at noon on Saturday?” He looks to me to confirm and I nod, pleased that his nerves seemed to have eased a bit. He smiles again, big and bright, leaving me no choice but to adopt the same goofy expression. 

I make my way to the threshold and he follows me, holding the door open as I step outside. I turn around before I go to give him our customary parting message and to absorb the image of him one last time. 

“Goodbye, Peeta,” I say, unable to stop myself from sounding wistful and silly. I can’t say I mind much, even though I would be mortified if I looked this way in the presence of anybody else. 

“Goodbye, Katniss,” He says as he gives me a little wave. I turn to leave and walk down to the main road, looking back before I reach it. He’s still standing in the doorway, watching me go with the same smile on his face. He seems flustered to be caught staring and closes the door while looking down at his feet, affording me a view of his curly hair. I see the curtain twitch out of the corner of my eye before I turn away and I smile once more, my cheeks starting to hurt. 

I make my way back home, finding myself daydreaming about Saturday. I’ve never been one to daydream before but I realize that it’s not so bad to let myself go every once and a while. One by one, I’m starting to realize that I don’t have to hold on to all these pre-conceived notions about myself. That I don’t need to let my fears and obsessions with appearing strong and collected rule my life. And it feels pretty good.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I probably went a little bit overboard as far as cheesiness goes with this chapter but I really couldn't help myself, it was all so sweet and romantic and this is a fluff story anyways. I'm hoping you guys don't care too much about the level of rom-com-esque scenes in this chapter because hopefully you like it as much as I do. I know I simply cannot resist the idea of a super romantic Peeta. Anyway, that being said let me know if I need to tone it down next time (because I'm planning on peppering in some M rated scenes sometime soon). Other than that, I would like to wish my usual thanks to all of you that have favorited/followed and reviewed, all of those messages are much appreciated and enjoyed. Feel free to let me know what your thoughts are and if you have any questions, I'd be more than happy to talk to you. Without further ado, I leave you with chapter 10 (It's a long one)!

Before I know it, Saturday's here and I'm even more nervous than I thought I'd be. Logically, I know that there's nothing to be nervous about. Peeta likes me, I like Peeta, he's very nice, and he's not going to pressure me into anything or make me do anything I don't want to. I know that and I repeat those simple facts to myself over and over again. No matter what I do, the feeling of overwhelming nervousness does not seem to abate.

Prim's friend's mom is going to arrive soon and Prim's fluttering about my room, choosing my outfit and deciding on which hairstyle will make me look least hideous. She practically sprints out of my room to go fetch a hair ribbon from her collection and runs back, a frantic excited energy about her.

"Come here, Katniss, put this dress on," She says, motioning at one of the few dresses that I haven't yet worn in front of Peeta. It's similar to but a bit more casual than the other two I've worn. It's an everyday dress that belonged to my mother, though I can't say I can remember her wearing it. It's sleeveless, unlike the others, and has a more fitted bodice. The skirt billows out, making the waistline more defined.

"This one is absolutely perfect. Go put it on so I can see what it looks like." She orders me, making a shooing motion as if she's a professional stylist that has an uncooperative model. I do as she says though, having no choice but to let her order me around unless I want to look like a fool. If it were up to me I'd probably wear my work pants. While I'm sure Peeta wouldn't mind, it's hardly polite, especially for a date, if you could call this meeting that.

I put on the dress in the bathroom; Prim handing me a bra as I go inside. I look down at my chest briefly and realize that I probably do need one, if only to round out the shape. I have been steadily gaining weight since Peeta gave me the job, and I suppose it's starting to show. While still slim, I'm curvier than before, actually having a small amount of cushion on my thighs and backside. My breasts seemed to have grown some too. I haven't given them much, if any thought recently, but now that I think about it, I can notice a difference.

Where the cups of the bra were loose before, they now fit snugly, like it's supposed to fit. I have naturally small breasts and gaining some weight has not suddenly made them large or even average sized, but it's a noticeable difference, considering I was nearly flat chested before.

I'm surprised to find that the dress doesn't hang on me when I put it on, instead skimming my body and fitting comfortably around my waist. I must admit that it looks rather nice and it's obvious Prim agrees when I leave the bathroom and she sees me.

"You look beautiful, Katniss," She says, beaming at me before leaning up on the tips of her toes and fussing with my hair.

I kneel down to her level and after a few minutes I look in the mirror, finding she's done my hair nicely again. This time she's pulled the two front sections of my hair back and twisted them, making my hair almost look like it's a crown. She's secured it with one of her dark green hair ribbons, closely matching one of the colors of the dress.

It's then that I hear a knock on the door and follow Prim downstairs. She's practically floating between the excitement for my date and the play date she has with her friend.

"Katniss," She says to me very seriously, pausing before answering the door. "You look perfect and Peeta's going to be blown away. Just remember to relax and be open to whatever happens, remember that he cares for you and you don't need to close yourself off. And please remember every little detail so you can tell me later."

"I will, Little Duck." I promise, placing a gentle kiss on her temple before smiling down at her. "Thanks for your help."

I open the door and she rushes out to go meet her friend, the fussing over me thankfully forgotten. I talk to her mother for a moment to coordinate when she'll be dropped off; she says Prim should be home after dinner.

I close the door and watch my little sister get into the car through the curtains, not missing the little wave that she sends my way because she knows I'm watching. I sigh when I watch them drive away, both relieved and overcome with anxiety and suddenly no distractions.

It's a few minutes before noon and Peeta will be here soon, which I can't seem to decide if it's a good or a bad thing. I rush upstairs to put on my shoes and take one last look at myself.

I look at myself at my mother's old vanity, admiring Prim's handiwork on my hair and the way the dress fits me. I feel feminine, an entirely foreign feeling and one that I've never had the urge to experience before. I find that I want to be pretty for Peeta, regardless of how illogical that may be.

I look at my face; it's long profile with high cheekbones and an olive hue. I notice that I have a more even tone than I did a couple months ago and my sallow cheeks are no longer quite as thin. I look healthy and I smile faintly in the mirror, relishing in the security of knowing where my next meal is coming from.

I make a rash last-minute decision, one I will probably regret later, and dig one of my mother's old lipsticks out of the drawers. I feel silly putting it on but find that I think it looks rather nice, the way its light pink hue compliments my skin tone and highlights my lips.

Thinking about lips makes me think of Peeta's and how perfectly plump they are. Mine aren't nearly as prominent but I can't help but wondering if he'll notice my lips now, if he'll think about kissing me.

I hear a knock on the front door before I can fall further down into my daydream and I start, sparing one last look at myself to make sure everything's in order before flying down the stairs. I stand in front of the door for a moment, taking several deep, calming, breaths and running my hands down the front of my dress. I finally muster the courage to move and open the door, unable to help the fond smile that graces my face once I do.

Peeta's standing before me, blushing and nervous, holding a bouquet of flowers similar to the one he brought me last week. Instead of the suit that he donned the last two times, he's wearing a nice button down short sleeve shirt and a pair of nice slacks. He looks utterly adorable, standing on my doorstep, clearly nervous as can be just at the prospect of seeing me.

He timidly hands the flowers to me and I take them, inhaling their sweet scent. He doesn't know what to do with his hands now that they don't have something to hold on to and fidgets uncomfortably while I appreciate the flowers. I realize I don't even know what we're doing yet and he obviously feels uncomfortable standing on my front porch.

"These are lovely, Peeta. Why don't you come inside while I put these in some water?" He smiles gratefully and I move aside, allowing him to enter my humble little home.

I close the door behind him and leave him standing in the entryway while I go into the kitchen and put the flowers in a vase. I come back to find him standing awkwardly, not sure of what to do.

I smile in what I hope is a welcoming way and take a moment to appreciate how gorgeous he looks. My thoughts are interrupted when he hesitantly opens his mouth to speak and I do my best to project a welcoming and easy-going vibe so as not to make him more nervous.

"You look absolutely beautiful, Katniss," He smiles timidly before a thought occurs to him and he goes to speak again. "You always look beautiful, but you do right now, too, your hair is very pretty when it's down like that." He stumbles over his words and I can tell he doesn't think he's said the right thing so I make sure to let him know I understand before he feels like he has to elaborate further.

"Thank you, Peeta. You don't look too bad yourself." I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth and cringe slightly, willing Peeta to not have heard me embarrass myself. Peeta looks up at me though, cocking an eyebrow in a playful way and I briefly consider feigning illness and passing out on the spot.

"Well I'm glad we're both on the same page," He says with a good-natured chuckle and I can't help but laugh too, despite how mortified I feel. It doesn't help that his curls bounce a bit as he laughs and moves his head. Something about his luscious hair mesmerizes me, renders me mute and dumbstruck.

Peeta clears his throat then, the humored smile still clinging to his lips. "Are you ready? I was thinking we could maybe go have a picnic? It's not too cold today and the sun's out but we could absolutely do something else if that doesn't sound good." He watches me anxiously, waiting for me to show my opinion of his simple plan.

I think it sounds perfect, I can't imagine a better afternoon than having some of Peeta's wonderful food under the sun, the both of us sharing a blanket. "That sounds perfect," I punctuate with a smile, moving to grab a sweater from the hall closet in case it gets chilly. "I'm ready if you are." I step closer to him, sweater draped around my arm, about to open the door when he does it for me.

He holds it open in a chivalrous gesture, blushing while I exit my house. He follows me and I lock the door, making my way to his car.

He opens the car door open for me as he always does and I have less trouble getting in than I did the last couple times, as it's a bit more familiar now. I take a seat while he does his adorable half-jog around the car and sits down in the driver's seat.

"Prim's going to be home around dinner time, probably about 6:30, so we don't have to be home until then," I tell him and he smiles bashfully, getting himself situated and putting the key in the ignition.

"Sounds great, should be more than enough time." He looks especially nervous again and I scoot a tad bit closer to him in an attempt to show him that he doesn't need to be anxious. He starts the car and drives off, keeping one hand on the wheel and the other fidgeting nervously on his thigh.

I don't want him to be so nervous, I don't want him to think that he has to impress me or be anything that he's not. I reach over and gently place my hand over his. He instantly stiffens before relaxing and slowly encompassing my hand with his.

While we drive for a few minutes he does that same circular motion in my palm, one that both soothes and excites me. I don't know why he does it, simply that he has anytime my hand has been in his. It's a very comforting and sweet gesture, one that I was never expecting but find myself enjoying and expecting nonetheless.

We arrive in front of a meadow a short time after we've departed, the same one Peeta has painted and I suspect that he picked flowers out of. It's a large, rolling field, untamed and wild. There's an abundance of wildflowers and weeds growing everywhere, the grass thick and ankle high. It's certainly not polished or even particularly pretty but it's peaceful and out of the way. I think it's the perfect place for a picnic and I appreciate that Peeta's shared a place with me that seems to hold some significance to him.

Peeta opens my door for me after he gets out and I take his hand as I climb out. His hands are slightly clammy, due to nerves, and I can tell he's self-conscious about it.

"Sorry," He mumbles before looking down and hastily wiping his hand on the front of his pants. I just smile at him, I don't know why he's so nervous in my presence but I think it's endearing.

I take a second to look at the meadow; I realize I've never really appreciated the beauty in it before. Seeing Peeta's painting has changed my perception of typically ordinary or ugly things. I can suddenly see a little bit of what he sees in it. I see the gentle slope of the hills, the glint of the sun on the dew still clinging to the overgrown grass. Everything about it is serene, it prompts me to take a deep breath and inhale the unique scent of the grass and foliage.

"I hope this is ok," Peeta says softly, watching me take in the meadow. "I know it's not the nicest place in the world but I thought it would be an ok place for a picnic."

I turn to him and take his hand to reassure him. He hesitates before gripping my hand, still nervous that they're a little bit sweaty. I want to show him that I don't care, that everything about him is sweet and adorable and attractive.

"It's perfect," I say simply and his face lights up, obviously reassured by my simple statement.

He lets go of my hand and goes to reach into the open bed of the truck, pulling out a rolled up blanket and a basket. I walk into the meadow a ways until I find a nice, flat spot, Peeta following me with the supplies.

"Does this spot look good to you?" I ask, and I find him staring at me, that familiar look of timid wonder in his eyes.

"It looks perfect," He says after a moment of processing what I said, echoing my word from earlier.

He shakes out the blanket and places it down. The blanket is plenty big for two people but not overly large. It's comfortable while still being intimate.

He places the basket on the blanket and I sit down, smoothing my dress out after I sit comfortably with my legs crossed. I look up at him and pat next to me, as I know he's currently agonizing over where to sit.

He blushes with a tight smile and sits next to me, crossing his legs and facing me.

"Are you hungry?" He asks me and I nod. I get hungry pretty often and I haven't eaten much yet.

He starts unloading the basket and my mouth waters, seeing the typical delicious fare of the bakery laid before me. There are the customary cheese buns, as Peeta knows they're a favorite of mine. There are two apples, both perfectly round and pink. He's also laid out two sandwiches made on French rolls, two glass bottles of water, two cupcakes, and plates along with cutlery and napkins. It's more than enough food and it all looks positively delicious.

Peeta makes me a plate with a cheese bun and a sandwich, along with an apple on the side and a bottle of water. He makes the same plate for himself and we sit in silence for a moment, both of us eating contentedly.

"Thank you for doing this with me, Katniss," He says, stealing a small glance at me.

I wait until I'm finished chewing and I look at him, moving my foot out to lightly touch his as I take in the way the sun reflects off of his beautiful hair.

"Thank you, Peeta," I say and take a second to formulate my thoughts, thinking of how to properly express what I've felt these past few days.

"You know, I was actually pretty excited when you asked me to do something with you, just us and all. Honestly, knowing how you feel about me made me really excited. I've been the happiest this past week than I've been since my parents died." I realize I probably shouldn't have mentioned my parent's deaths, as its kind of a mood killer, but I didn't know how else to say it. And I know he will understand; if anyone understands what it's like to lose a parent, it's him.

"Really?" He asks, wonder lacing his tone, as if he can't believe that I was genuinely excited that he liked me.

"Yeah, Peeta," I say, smiling at him before I look down and play with the edge of the blanket. "You're kind of great."

I look up timidly after saying that, nervous and slightly embarrassed to admit my feelings, even if it's in a very indirect way.

He's just staring at me, a burning intensity in his eyes. He looks so happy and so excited, it makes me smile, it makes me feel joy bubble up inside of me.

There's only one thing on my mind in that moment and I make a split decision to take Prim's advice, to stop over-thinking things, to apply my determined attitude to this situation. I'm still nervous, so nervous, but I don't give myself time to think about it.

I lean forward, hovering over Peeta, placing my hand to the side of him for balance. My face is so close to his, I can see his individual eyelashes, his blonde eyebrows, the little freckles around his nose that I've never had the pleasure of noticing before.

I see his eyes go wide, realization dawning on his features as he figures out what I'm about to do. He opens his mouth to speak and I lean forward more, pressing my nose to his, wanting to silence him, not wanting words to get in the way. If he speaks now, no matter what he says, I'll lose my courage.

I take one last look at his wide eyes, fully able to appreciate how shockingly blue and clear and prefect they are from being this close to him. I close my eyes and inhale shakily and shallowly, finally placing my lips on his.

I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing and I feel terribly awkward, terribly stupid. I apply more pressure and move slightly, and this seems to pull Peeta out of his motionless trance. He angles his face more, so that our noses aren't smashed together. He moves his lips slightly, parting them a bit and applying pressure, kissing me back.

I try my best to adjust to the new position, to not over-think it, to do what comes naturally. I part my lips slightly, mimicking him, and work with him to find a balance, both of us testing the waters. His hand moves up to cup the side of my face and something about feeling his big, warm, soft hand on my cheek makes something click within me.

Suddenly I don't feel paralyzed by nerves or the fear that I'm embarrassing myself irreversibly. I let my body take over, I let the feelings that have been coursing through me ever since I allowed myself to like him find an outlet.

Our lips move together in an awkward fumble until I part my lips slightly more and he takes my bottom lip between his. I realize then that that's what kissing is. It's not blindly moving against each other with silly little pecks at each other's mouths. I'd never seen anyone kiss besides my parents and I hadn't exactly been watching very closely when they did it.

I mimic his movement and capture his top lip between my own, sucking on it, moving with him. He sighs softly, making a small noise in the back of his throat and I find my confidence, both of us developing a delicate rhythm. It's a gentle game of give and take, each of us leaning into the other slightly, the other person leaning back to compensate. We learn together, we discover what it feels like to fit together.

I feel so electric as we keep going. I feel incredibly alive and feminine, I feel like I'm exactly where I belong. I feel something start low in my abdomen, kindling a fire within me.

His hand never leaves my face, and after a little while his thumb takes up that circular motion on my cheekbone. It only stokes the fire, only makes me want him more.

I don't know how long we stay like that, lips locked, both of us perfectly in tune to the other. I've been taking shallow little breaths through my nose and so has Peeta, but it's difficult and eventually we part on a gasp, both of us not wanting to move but thoroughly winded.

We both stare at each other while we catch our breath. His cheeks are as flushed as I've ever seen them and his lips slightly parted, even more plump and pink then they usually are. He looks utterly delectable; there's nothing I want to do more than keep kissing him. But I don't know what he wants; I don't know how he feels about what just happened.

I don't know what to say or how to handle the moment so I blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind. "That was my first kiss," I say and I regret saying it so suddenly and unceremoniously, but glad that it's out of the way, him now having a valid reason for me being so awkward.

His eyes widen and a small smile takes hold of his mouth, drawing my eyes once again to his perfect, distracting, lips.

"It was mine, too, Katniss," He says and I know my eyes must widen my comically, my mouth must open wide in a very unladylike fashion.

"Really?" I ask him because I truly can't believe it. How can Peeta, 19 years old and exceptionally handsome, how can he never have kissed anyone before? He's more than anyone could ask for in a mate. He's kind, sensitive, and considerate. His lips are perfect and his skin is incredibly soft. His eyes are the bluest I've ever seen, quite possibly the bluest eyes in existence. He has well defined muscles and a strong build; he's practically a chef for heavens sake, not to mention a talented baker.

"Yes," He says on a nervous chuckle, impossibly, miraculously, confirming his statement. "Don't look so surprised," He says good-naturedly, watching all these thoughts dawn on me.

"I'm shocked. You're the nicest person I've ever met, you're unbelievably handsome, and you're so considerate, so respectful. I had a hard time believing that you liked me at all, and now you tell me that you've never even kissed anyone before." I'm probably being a tad rude or overzealous but I can't stop myself. This boy once again surprises me.

He turns beet red and looks down for a second and speaks softly. "Well, thank you, Katniss. It means more to me than you could ever know that you think all those things of me."

I can't believe he doesn't believe the things that I said to him, that he thinks that I have some untrue opinion of him.

"Those are facts, Peeta. You're incredible. I'm honored that I was your first kiss. I'm surprised, but in a really good way." He looks up at me intensely at my words, abandoning the blanket that he had previously been fiddling with.

"You're the only person for me, Katniss. You've always been the only person for me. I've wanted you for as long as I can remember. I remember watching you on the playground when we were kids and thinking you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I hated leaving school because I wouldn't see you everyday anymore. I had been trying to work up the courage to talk to you but I never did. And I regretted it so much. I never thought I'd get the chance again. And then you started trading your squirrels with me and I had the same problem; I couldn't think of a way to talk to you without sounding like an idiot. But then I realized that I needed help at the bakery and you were perfect; you're trustworthy and capable and smart and I would finally have an excuse to talk to you." He pauses to take a deep, shuddering, breath and I take his hand, eagerly soaking in every word he's saying with disbelief and happiness.

"Working with you was better than I could've possibly imagined. You're so easy to talk to and I absolutely loved hearing about your life and your interests and about Prim. We became friends and you opened up to me and I was just so happy to be apart of your life. I agonized for days over whether or not I should tell you the nature of my feelings because I didn't want to risk losing your friendship. You were, and still are, the best friend I've ever had. I can't properly express how happy it made me that you liked me too. It made me feel like nothing in the world was wrong, like everything was perfect. And then I bring you here to a dilapidated field and you like it and you kiss me? The honor was entirely mine. I couldn't imagine a better first kiss. "

I don't think I've ever heard him say so much at one time before. I'm amazed and speechless at his heartfelt declaration. I never imagined that he had liked me for so long. I never had any idea that he even noticed me when we were in school, let alone wanted to talk to me.

He's just laid all his feelings and the long history of them out in the open and I can tell he's nervous about it. He looks worried that I won't take his statement well, that I would somehow be deterred by such an eloquent and heartfelt confession. What he just said to me is the most romantic thing I've ever heard. I never thought that I was one to like romantic gestures but I find that I do. I like them when they come from Peeta, anyway.

I do the only thing I know how to do when he seems nervous and I want to reassure him, I take his hand. He squeezes mine and smiles again, slightly less nervous but still apprehensive. I lean forward again, my face close to his as I whisper.

"Neither could I," I say, punctuating with what is now our second kiss. He doesn't hesitate this time; he brings his hand to my face and kisses me. It's more intense this time, which does nothing to help the aching that I'm starting to feel between my legs.

Something takes hold of him and he leans into me so that I'm reclining on the blanket where I was previously sitting, held up by my elbows as Peeta lies in a similar way to the side of me. I turn my head to face him and in a few moments I find myself lying down with no recollection of how I got there and not caring.

Peeta's hovering on top of me, holding my face and kissing me breathless. I never dared to hope that we could have so much chemistry, but it's apparent we do. We stay like that for an indeterminate amount of time, long enough for me to feel pleasantly dizzy and like I'm floating. Nothing exists but the feel of Peeta's solidity close to me and his lips on mine, moving in a way that chases all other thoughts from my mind.

Eventually we part and catch our breaths, both of us staring at each other again. I feel simultaneously electric and relaxed, the beating of my heart fast and steady in my chest; Peeta's thumb circling softly on my cheek.

I don't know why I do, especially because I'm in such an excited state, but I smile really big and wide and then I start giggling. Light laughter erupts from deep within me and I can't stop it, can't stop the outpouring of joy that I feel.

Peeta seems confused for a moment and then he smiles, chuckling along with me as I laugh, semi-underneath him. He places a gentle kiss on my temple and moves fully to my side, lying down beside me. I turn towards him so I can look at him. His eyes are closed and he has a peaceful smile on his face. He looks so carefree, the most unbothered and unburdened that I've ever seen him. He looks as young as he is and impossibly beautiful.

I take his hand and intertwine our fingers. I let my eyes shutter close and breathe deeply, taking in his presence and the perfection of the moment.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry for the longer than usual delay, I actually graduated from high school this week so I've been a bit preoccupied and reflective. This chapter is a bit of a teaser as it's a bit shorter than normal. I'm hoping to get working on the next one real soon; I just wanted to share this with you guys in the interim. This tiny update is almost entirely Katniss's inner thoughts and monologue, so while it's not any "Peenis" (forgive me for using that abbreviation) interaction, I think it provides a valuable insight into what's going on with Katniss at the moment. Anyway, thanks so much for reading! Please review and let me know what you think, I absolutely love reading the little notes you leave for me. Enjoy!

After our impassioned make out session, Peeta and I lie in the meadow for a while, occasionally catching the other staring. There’s certain tranquility to it and I feel more relaxed and happy than I’ve felt in recent memory. Eventually, we get up and eat the cupcakes that Peeta had packed for us. At one point he gets a tiny bit of frosting on the edge of his nose and I take it off with my finger before licking it clean. I didn’t think much of the gesture before I do it but I realize it probably had some less than innocent implications by the way Peeta reacts, all wide-eyed and blushing. 

We reluctantly leave after we spend some more time kissing and continuing to explore how we move together. It feels so natural and the awkwardness that I had felt previously is already fading. Peeta obviously enjoys it, evident in the little noises that come from the back of his throat, adding fire to that ball of heat in my lower belly. 

Eventually we see the sun start to set and reluctantly head home. I could spend all day in the meadow with him, sharing lazy kisses and intimate whispers, but I have to be home when Prim gets there. 

We linger when he drops me off, us walking to the door hand in hand and sharing slow, sensual kisses on my doorstep. It takes all my strength to pull away and leave him but it’s not without big, bright smiles from both of us and promises to do something like this again soon. 

Peeta looks the happiest I’ve ever seen him when he leaves my house; looking downright goofy with the grin he’s wearing. His hair is tousled from where my hands greedily mussed it and his lips are extra pink and swollen from the ardent kisses we shared. I watch him leave and then go up to my room, changing out of the dress I had worn. 

I think about the date and how well it went, how it went so much better than I expected it too. Yes, there was some awkwardness when I first kissed him but it went away quickly when I realized that he was just as inexperienced as I was. I still can’t believe that I was Peeta Mellark’s first kiss. The thought makes me smile as I change into a pair of comfortable pants and a loose fitting shirt. 

I feel light and almost delirious with happiness, the memories of his kisses playing over and over again in my mind. I can’t stop thinking about the way he held my face in his hand or the noises he made, how his amazing hair felt tangled in my fingers. 

Everything about this day was absolutely, indescribably perfect and I know that our relationship has changed irreversibly. Between Peeta’s passionate confession and the new physical aspect of our relationship, I feel confident in the fact that we’re basically dating now. Neither of us explicitly said that we were going steady but knowing Peeta, I know that he takes our relationship seriously.

As I think about our kisses and how easily and rapidly pecks on the lips dissolved into heated making out, I have a feeling that it won’t be long until we move onto other types of physical activities. The thought both scares and excites me, given how much I enjoyed being close to him coupled with my naivety. 

I’ve never really listened to school-yard whispers from the older girls or tried to find out what happens in a relationship when two people share a very strong attraction, like Peeta and I do. I know what stern adults have told me, that being that it’s wrong for me to do anything physical with a man before marriage. But I don’t think it’s wrong. Having shared my first kiss with Peeta and the experience of being close to him, exploring him, building a rhythm with him, I think that it’s far too natural to be anything but right. 

I don’t see the point of making myself feel guilty or restricting myself from doing sexual things with him, nor for enjoying it. I would no doubt feel differently if I had done those things with a different man, but I did them with Peeta. I know that Peeta would never, ever, pressure me into doing anything I didn’t want to. I also know that he’s not going to think less of me for doing those types of things with him and that he’s definitely not going to stop being interested in me afterwards. 

There are no longer any doubts in my mind about how serious Peeta takes our relationship and how much he wants me. His actions in conjunction with his eloquent words have made his respect and yearning for me very clear. He accepts me for everything that I am, stubborn, independent, and responsible for my sister. He likes all those things about me and while it may be hard to believe that this is all not some elaborate dream, I know he means it; I know he really, truly likes me. 

I don’t know much about the natural progression of physical relationships. All I know is that there’s kissing and then at some point, usually after marriage, there’s sex. I don’t feel quite ready to have sex yet; the act is shrouded in mystery and confusion. I know that it’s a thing that happens and the basic mechanics of it but when the word itself is treated as something to be feared, it’s hard to have any idea of how to approach it or what to expect. I’m hoping Peeta has some better idea of it than I do, though I can imagine it’ll be pretty awkward to bring it up. 

I know that the best approach is to take things slowly, only doing what feels right and natural in the moment. I’m still curious though and have a lot of questions without any places to go for answers. I’m just going to try to forget about it for the time being and deal with any questions I have as they become relevant. 

My racing thoughts and the emotionally charged events of the day has left me exhausted, albeit happy and satisfied. I lay down on my bed and close my eyes, my thoughts eventually slowing down enough to let me drift off into a deep, contented sleep. 

I wake up as I usually do; to Prim shaking me gently and telling me she’s hungry. I get up and make dinner to the usual line of questioning, with the usual level of enthusiasm, which is to say overwhelming. I tell her that he took me to the meadow for a picnic and that it all went very well but that doesn’t seem to be enough to silence her. 

“Did he kiss you?” She asks excitedly, a melodic lilt to her voice. As soon as I hear her question I blanch, not wanting to lie but also not wanting to tell my little sister that Peeta and I essentially made out for a few hours. Apparently she notices that I stiffen because she smiles knowingly. 

“How was it? How long did it last? Did he kiss you in the meadow or did he wait until he brought you home?” She questions in a rush, eager to add to her romantic fantasy of how our date went. 

“It was good.” I say simply, with no infliction of my tone. I know as soon as I say it that Prim isn’t going to let this drop, especially because I just admitted that it happened. 

“When did he do it? How long was it? You need to give me details, Katniss.” 

I steel myself and decide to give her the information she wants so I don’t have to endure this line of questioning for any longer than necessary. 

“I kissed him when----“ I’m interrupted by Prim’s loud little-girl voice squeaking out her shock. 

“You kissed him? Katniss that’s amazing! I’m so glad you finally got the courage to take charge of things a little bit!” Its kind of disturbing talking about this with my sister, let alone that she’s so excited about it. I decide to end the questioning by stating the facts and nothing more, not wanting to give her any more material to prod me with. 

“Yes, I kissed him. It wasn’t that big of a deal. It was in the meadow. It was nice. We both enjoyed it. The end.” 

She smiles really big at that and I can tell she’s picked up on my annoyed tone as she stops asking questions. As we’re eating dinner she talks about her play date and what her friend and her did together but the entire time she has that same smug look on her face. She’s happy that my relationship is progressing and also self-righteous that she predicted it. My annoyance fades a little, but I’m naturally a private person and don’t feel like gushing about all of it. 

Everything about the date and the kiss was perfect and very exciting but I don’t feel like I can go into detail about it with Prim. I don’t want to give her any ideas about us getting married tomorrow and I don’t want to share details of the intimacy we shared with my kid sister. I want to be a good role model for her so that she realizes that she can have a positive relationship with a nice man and not have to wait on him to initiate everything. But I also don’t want to tell her about it and give her these grand romantic expectations that she builds up in her head. The truth of the matter is that I got very lucky to find someone like Peeta, and I don’t want her to settle for anything less than someone who treats her as well as Peeta treats me. But at the same time I don’t want her to be so preoccupied with romance all the time. I don’t want her to rely on a man to provide for her. I’ve seen far too many instances of a woman having unexplained bruises or lifeless eyes in my trips to town and it’s never any mystery as to what caused them. 

That being said, I’m very glad that she likes Peeta. And Peeta is so incredibly good with her. I could never be interested or involved with anybody that didn’t like my sister and Peeta’s proven that he does. Everything about him is genuine and it’s clear he enjoys spending time with the both of us, that he accepts my situation and wants to be apart of it. 

By the time bedtime rolls around and I’ve tucked Prim in, I’ve replayed our kisses in my mind so many times that I feel that same coil of heat in my lower belly that I felt earlier, the same driving desire to satisfy it. I go to my room and get ready for bed, using my hand to quell the aching at my core and help me find rest. It has been such an emotionally charged and exciting day, I need time to rest so I can process my emotions and think about what should happen next. The thoughts keep running around in my head and the only way to stop them is to give in to that overwhelming desire, not that I don’t enjoy it. 

I touch myself until I feel that familiar building heat explode inside of me, spreading to my extremities and blanketing me in bliss. I drift off easily after that, thoughts of being snuggled into Peeta’s side lulling me gently to sleep. 

 

Sunday passes as it has been for the past few months, lazily and filled with gentle contemplation. I think about my budding relationship with Peeta and the natural fears that surround it. All of this is new to me and I worry about the commitment, about letting someone into my life and giving them the ability to hurt me. It’s not just myself who’s affected by this either; I have Prim to worry about as well. She is still very young and I have to make sure that she doesn’t get too attached to Peeta in case this doesn’t work out, something that’s proving rather difficult. 

I honestly have no idea what to expect when it comes to this relationship and I don’t know Peeta’s expectations either. Judging by his confessions and sincere nature, I suspect that he probably sees us having a long-term future together. It’s not that I don’t see that myself, I actually do, which is what scares me. 

I remember when I was in the bakery and was flooded with the image of myself and Peeta living together, going about our daily lives in the same home, Prim chattering along happily in the background. It filled me with such a sense of warmth to think about being with him in that way and I know that if I were to be married to anybody, I would want it to be him. 

But I’m scared that something will happen. I’m scared that by opening myself up to him and relying on him that I will bring pain upon myself or Prim at some point. What if we break up? I will lose my job, Prim will lose a positive role model in her life, and I will be heartbroken. Not to mention that everyone in town will know and whisper about me, not that I care that much about what they think but it might affect my ability to get a job or trade with others.

I’m terrified about all the ways this could go wrong and all the things I don’t know about. I don’t know about sex or how to make a relationship work or how to be good enough for someone as amazing as Peeta. I think about what the old Katniss would have done in this situation, what I would have done before I started letting myself have feelings for him. 

The old me would have shut myself off and become emotionally unavailable, completely unwilling to be emotionally vulnerable. I would have told Peeta that I think things have gone too far and that I think it’s best if we stopped whatever was happening between is. I would have said that to him and he would have been heartbroken, I would have felt empty and depressed, and Prim would have been disappointed. But I would’ve done it because it’s the easiest thing to do; it’s easiest to not try to figure anything out, to remain closed off and unreachable. 

I think about doing those things and something inside me lurches, leaving me with a terrible, unsettled feeling. Just the thought of not seeing Peeta’s smile anymore, not feeling his gentle touches, makes me feel off balance and upset. I don’t want to stop this relationship, I don’t want to remove myself from someone that has given me so much and who I care for so deeply. It would be easier and possibly best in the long run but I can’t do it. And I’m glad I can’t. I’m glad that I’ve changed, that I’m now able to realize that the fear is worth it, that Peeta is worth it. 

Being with him feels so impossibly right and perfect. Between his touch and his sweet words and gestures, between the ways he genuinely cares for my sister and respects me, everything about Peeta is right for me. I may not feel like I 100% deserve him but even I know that it would be foolish to stop whatever’s happening simply because of my own insecurities. 

I feel resolved in my realization, in my knowledge that I have grown and am choosing something that will make me happy, regardless of how it may turn out down the road. I still have anxiety surrounding a number of things, and I need some answers. I decide that I’m going to approach Peeta about them and ask him some questions that I have. Regardless of how uncomfortable it’s going to make me, I know that Peeta will answer me honestly and I’ll feel better about things afterwards. 

I end my weekend with the determination to make this work, to grow and face wherever this relationship takes me. I feel scared and exhilarated but most of all ready to venture into unchartered territory. I’m ready to let myself be happy.


	12. Peeta's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm trying something a little bit different with this chapter, it's from Peeta's POV. I'm hoping that it provides a more rounded look at their relationship and lets us see exactly what he's thinking. Thank you so much to all of you who review and support this story, it means a lot to me. Please review and let me know what you think, I very much value your feedback, especially on something new like this. Enjoy!

It's Monday morning and I'm ecstatic. No longer are my days filled with loneliness and depression, they're now stuffed with smiles and bright conversation. My life has been immeasurably better since Katniss Everdeen has come into my life, not to mention become my friend and dare I say girlfriend?

The first thing on my mind when I wake up this morning is Katniss, not an especially unusual occurrence, especially for these last few months, but this time it's different. Instead of my usual pathetic, foggy fantasies of Katniss that were featured in my dreams the night before, my thoughts this morning are of things that actually happened. Katniss smiling like I've never seen her smile before, Katniss holding my hand in my car, and most incredibly, Katniss kissing me.

I still cannot believe that Katniss kissed me, let alone that she liked it. I spent the entire weekend thinking about our date, every waking moment devoted to the perfection that transpired. I was so nervous that she wouldn't like the picnic or that she wouldn't like me, I worried over it for days. But the enthusiastic kisses we exchanged were the sweetest reward I could have ever imagined for all the self-induced anxiety that I endured.

As I smile to myself and get ready I repeat the facts of what happened, trying to convince myself that it was real and get it all straight in my head, organizing it from the muddle of joyful memories that it currently is.

Katniss Everdeen works in my bakery. We're friends. She went on a date with me. She kissed me. I was her first kiss. She liked kissing me. We kissed for hours. She likes me.

She likes me. That simple thought is the most miraculous and most simple of all, the one thought that I was convinced would never become a reality. For years I watched Katniss from afar as I silently struggled, wishing this beautiful, strong, courageous woman was my friend. I always thought that we would have things to talk about, that I would connect more with her than anyone else in town. I don't know how I knew that but I was right.

We have had similar experiences, hers being different in that she's entirely responsible for her sister. Seeing her have to take care of her sister at such a young age made my heart break for her. I had no right to care about her but I did, I always have.

I started trying to help her when I could see her struggling, my own cowardice preventing me from doing more. I regret not offering her the job sooner, not ending her suffering as soon as possible.

Having Katniss here has been amazing, it makes every facet of my life seem better because I have something to look forward to. I was so lonely for so many years, I had withdrawn in on myself when my father passed away and I was receiving pressure from my mother to work harder.

My dad and I were very close and his death was devastating. It was sudden and awful, I remember being there when he died from a heart attack. My mother didn't seem to care; not that her husband had died and certainly not that I was grieving. I was so depressed during that time that I could barely get out of bed, which of course made my mother's insistent nagging even worse.

The day I turned 18 she left, fed up with my unresponsiveness and the fact that she no longer had any entitlement to the bakery. I was glad that she was not there anymore to make my life a living hell but it still hurt to be abandoned by my own mother, no matter how cruel she was. Although she was no company before, something about being entirely alone hurt.

I didn't maintain any of the superficial friendships that I had from school and I remained reclusive, keeping to myself and my business at the bakery. The entire time I thought sporadically of Katniss. I wondered how she was doing after her parents died, how she was feeling, if she had eaten today. I worried about Prim too, about the cheerful little girl made silent by hunger and grief.

I knew that I had to stop being such a selfish idiot and offer her some kind of help. I started with giving her some extra bread on our trades, later followed by the job offer. I think offering her the job at the bakery was the best thing I could've done, I only wish that I had done it sooner.

Katniss is an amazing employee and we work very well together. At first she was unsure of herself but now she's set in her routine, sensing what's needed and seeing to it right away. And the conversations we have are perfect; it never feels forced or meaningless. Even just her presence, her companionship, makes me happy. It's so incredibly nice to finally have a friend after so long, let alone a friend that shares a similar experience.

I was terrified to jeopardize our friendship when I told her about my true feelings, but she took it better than I ever could have expected her to. She told me that she liked me, that she liked who I was as a person and valued our friendship. It made me so thrilled to hear that, to hear that she felt even a fraction of the connection I felt to her.

And then the date. The kisses. After so many years of pining and what-ifs, it's almost enough to make my head explode. When Katniss leaned into kiss me, time stopped. Nothing else existed in the entire world except her beautiful face hovering inches from mine, pink lips slightly parted.

Kissing her felt like coming home, it was the most exciting and arousing thing that had ever happened to me.

I was surprised that she was surprised that she was my first kiss. Wasn't it obvious? I feel like it was obvious how unattached I've always been; only forming surface level friendships in lieu of any real substance. I tried to make Katniss understand that she was all I had ever wanted, and I think she finally did.

Kissing in the meadow, in my meadow, was an indescribable experience. I haven't told Katniss why that meadow's important to me because it's kind of silly, but it's important to me nonetheless. One day, right after my mom had left, I was hopeless. I was miserable, I had no energy, and I had no idea how I was going to run the bakery by my self.

I woke up that morning feeling the same way I'd felt everyday since my father died, utterly despondent, but I knew that I needed to do something to get myself out of this rut or else the business was going to fail. And I decided to go for a walk. It was really early and still dark out but I decided to go anyway, to clear my mind. It seemed impossible to drag myself out of bed and put clean clothes on but I finally did, wanting to go back to bed every second I was out of it. I must've walked for about an hour, aimlessly wandering around town. The sun was just starting to come up when I reached the edge of the meadow.

Something about the way the orange and pink hue of the sun painted the field was absolutely stunning to me. It took my breath away, the beauty of it. Here I was, in front of something that I had never given a second thought, finally realizing how gorgeous it is, how it had been there all along.

Everything hit me full force in that moment; the beauty of the meadow and the sunrise and the profound loneliness I felt. I cried, great sobs wracking my body as I stared unwaveringly at the meadow and the sun rising above it. I went over to the meadow and I laid down, utterly exhausted and drained. I fell asleep for a couple hours and when I woke up later, the ground was alive around me. There were birds singing their songs from the tress, squirrels busily running about, bees buzzing around the flowers.

There was one flower in particular, a dandelion, right by my head. When I turned to look around me, I saw it and something about it struck me. I can't explain why but seeing that flower triggered something within me. I saw the fresh, morning dew on the petals, the fat little bumblebee buzzing around it, the silky petals reaching greedily towards the sky. I got up, bewildered, and looked around me to take in the beautiful sights and sounds and smells of this untouched piece of land around me. And I knew that I was going to be ok. I still felt depressed and overwhelmed, but I knew that I could do what I needed to and that it was going to be fine.

Something about seeing that meadow that day pulled me out of the black hole I had been living in. From that day forward I was able to find the strength each morning to get out of bed, although it was hardly ever easy. Each day still felt long and lonely, but I was able to get through it.

I took Katniss to that meadow because she reminds me of that dandelion. She reminds me of something striking in its detail but commonly overlooked. Something hardy and humble, something beautiful and resilient. I didn't have the courage to tell her, but I think it was enough that she was able to see the meadow as I do. It was incredible to watch her appreciate the beauty of it, to know that I had helped her find something that she admired. It made me feel even more sure of our connection that she saw it the way I did.

It makes me smile to think of the tranquility of the day and the intimacy we shared. I go about getting ready for Katniss with a soft smile on my face, more than ready to see her again.

After I'm showered and dressed I head to the bakery, thinking about what I'm going to make us for breakfast on the way. One of the best parts of my day is having breakfast with Katniss in the morning, sharing a meal together before we fall into the easy rhythm of the day.

When I arrive at the bakery I park my car and walk briskly inside, impatiently unlocking the door to get out of the unforgiving briskness of the late fall morning. I do what I usually do, preparing the dough needed for the day and firing up the ovens.

Doing that takes me about 45 minutes, which is why I usually arrive an hour before Katniss gets here. It means I get up unreasonably early, but I'm used to it and nothing gives me the motivation to get up quite like the promise of seeing Katniss.

I think about it for a moment and decide to make some French toast this morning, a bit heavier and fancier than the usual fare but I figure the events of Saturday call for celebration, at least in my opinion. I whip some cream to go with the toast and set it out in a small bowl on the table top, alongside two place settings and a jar of amber honey.

Katniss knocks on the door right as I'm finishing the last piece, so I turn the stove off before wiping my hands on a towel and hastily making my way to the door.

She's standing before me in her burgundy work pants, faded from the countless times she worn them, and a thick sweater, more form fitting than when I first saw her in it when she wore it on the first day of work. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, as well is the tip of her nose and ears. She offers me a shy smile and I move aside for her, struck by her beauty.

Katniss looks absolutely stunning every time I see her, no matter if she's wearing a dress that fits her perfectly or her usual work clothes. I love the fact that she wears almost exclusively pants; I love that she doesn't care what anyone has to say about it. It takes a special kind of courage to wear pants that were made for a man in a small town where just about everyone thinks it makes you an unredeemable heathen.

She goes to take her usual spot on the stool and I finish plating the French toast. I carry both of the plates over to the makeshift table after sprinkling our breakfast with a light dusting of powdered sugar. She smiles up at me when I set her plate in front of her, tucking a strand of hair that had escaped from her braid behind her ear.

"This looks incredible, Peeta. Thank you." She seems slightly more timid than usual, something clearly occupying her mind and causing her unease.

"It's my pleasure," I say, but my smile is more strained now. I'm worried that she's going to tell me that she thinks that the kiss was a mistake, that she's thought it over and has decided that she doesn't want to be with me anymore. Even worse, that she no longer thinks she can be friends with me.

My heart constricts at the thought and I tell myself to calm down, though it's difficult when I think about the prospect of her not being apart of my life anymore or having changed her mind about her feelings. She had seemed just as emphatic as I was on Saturday but that doesn't mean she hadn't thought it over and realized that she didn't like me or that my second declaration of my feelings was creepy or overzealous.

I try not to let my anxiety get the best of me but it's hard. I often find myself struggling to control my anxiety in front of Katniss, whether it's over how she will receive something I say or what she's thinking in a moment of silence. I know that most of the time it is unfounded but I still feel it, often acutely.

Ever since my father died I've found that I feel anxiety over rather innocuous things. Before he died I got sad a bit more than most and often found myself worrying over things but it wasn't a problem and my dad always helped me and made me feel better. He was very gentle and understanding; whereas my mother thought I was wimpy and needed to toughen up. I've always been very sensitive, ever since I was a little boy, which is part of the reason I had a hard time connecting with people.

After my dad died I developed a crippling depression along with anxiety and a tendency towards reclusivity. It makes it harder to interact with people, though I've found that I'm ok with interacting with customers. It's only when I'm interacting with someone on more than a surface level, exchanging more than just pleasantries. Those feelings of anxiety are amplified around Katniss because I care so much about what she thinks of me, which in turn makes me self-conscious.

There's a stretch of silence between us that lasts a few moments as we both begin to eat our food. I run my hand through my hair, a nervous habit of mine, and brace myself, turning to Katniss to find out what's troubling her.

"Are you ok, Katniss?" I ask and she looks up at me, swallowing before taking a sip of water and fidgeting a bit, obviously made uncomfortable by my question.

"I'm fine. I've just been thinking about some things," She says and I stiffen, anticipating her to tell me that we're over before we'd even begun, that she regrets what happened between us over the weekend.

"What have you been thinking about?" I pose the question, voice trembling slightly with the fear of all the things she could say that would ultimately equate to the same thing, her not wanting to be involved with me in any way.

She looks down at her lap and shifts her napkin before looking up and turning around to face me fully. She can't meet my eyes for more than a few seconds at a time, steeling herself to let me down gently I'm sure. She opens her mouth to speak and closes it a couple times, each time followed by a downward gaze and the idle movement of her fingers. She finally musters the courage to speak and looks me straight in the eye, determination taking over.

"I have some questions." She says and my eyebrows rise on their own accord, surprised at the direction this conversation is going.

"Questions?" I ask tentatively, unsure of the nature of what she has to ask me.

"Yes. I was wondering about some things and I was hoping you could help me." She looks down again, her previous resolve dissolving a bit. I'm encouraged by the fact that she doesn't seem to outright regret what happened and relax, still on-edge but less tightly strung.

"Of course. You can ask me anything. Anything at all." I tell her, meeting her gaze with what I hope is an encouraging smile.

"Well…" She says slowly and sighs, looking up at me with her head downturned slightly out of nerves. "I had a really great time on Saturday. I really enjoyed kissing you." She pauses for a moment, visibly stiff and uncomfortable talking about it.

I lean forward slightly, emboldened by her preface and curious. "But it made me think about what we're doing and what we both want out of this relationship. I wasn't… I'm not sure what you want. And I also had some questions regarding some of the…. The ummm… the…. Physical things."

Her stiff speech implies that she thought about this conversation in her head, rehearsing what she was going to say. I'm a bit confused as to what she means when she says "the physical things."

"The physical things?" I ask, searching for some clarification before addressing the other aspect of her query.

"Yes, the umm… the other things, the things besides kissing," She says, immediately looking down. Realization dawns on me, suddenly making sense of her behavior.

She doesn't regret what happened; at least I don't think she does. She's just confused about the nature of our relationship and doesn't know what to expect. It's really all my fault; I have hardly been clear about anything, not even having used the word "date".

I feel bad that she's so nervous and I want to do anything I can to put her at ease and make her understand that I have absolutely no expectations, physical or otherwise.

"Well," I start, unsure of what to say but deciding to let the words flow freely, otherwise I'll get too nervous. "I don't know what you want out of this…. Relationship," I hesitate, the word seeming too clinical for what we have between us. "But I obviously really like you Katniss, and I want to be with you as long as you want to be with me. We don't have to take things fast, we can go at whatever pace makes you most comfortable. But I want you to know that I have no intention of breaking things off. I want to be with you." I stiffen from my unambiguous words, worrying that I've come one too strong. She's looking at me intently, clearly soaking up everything I say. She doesn't say anything so I continue, nervous and taking a deep breath to compose myself.

"As for the other stuff…." I falter, not knowing how to put her at ease or make her understand that I'm not expecting anything from her. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do. At all. If kissing is all your comfortable with then that's completely fine. Even if you don't want to kiss anymore, that's fine too. I want this to go at your pace."

The silence stretches between us for a few tense moments while she thinks about what to say next.

"I think I feel the same way… about our relationship." She speaks slowly, barely meeting my eyes. I can tell she's deep in thought, trying to make sense of her emotions in relation to what I just told her.

"And…" She looks down in her lap, brows furrowing slightly. "I don't want you to think that I don't want to do things with you, because that's not what I'm trying to say." She pauses and I sit on the edge of my seat, eager to listen to what she's trying to express.

"I… I want to do other… things… with you," She looks up, searching my face, willing me to understand. "I just don't know how. I don't know what to expect. This is all very new for me."

I think I understand, I think I know what she means. I think she's saying she's confused about where to go next and I completely get it, I feel the same way, though I imagine a have a little bit better idea than she does of how a physical relationship normally progresses.

"It's new for me too," I say quickly, trying to ease her nerves. "And there's no right way to do anything. But if you have any specific questions, I'd be happy to try to answer them, though I might not know the answers because I've never done any of this before."

She nods, thinking hard for a moment and then resuming her slow, quiet speech. "Umm… I guess my biggest concern was sex?" She says, squeaking the last word out, and my eyes widen, surprised at her direct question.

"What…" I clear my throat, trying to stop my voice from betraying my racing heart. "What about it?"

Her cheeks are pink, a rare blush surfacing as a result of this conversation. "I don't know. How it works, I guess? What leads up to it?" She's staring intently at her hands in her lap, fiddling with the hem of her sweater. "I… I don't think I'm ready for it yet but I feel like I might be… at some point. And I guess I'd like to know more about it so I know what to expect."

I take a moment to formulate my response, thinking of the best way to answer her questions. I know a bit about sexual activities because of the "friends" I used to have in school; sex seemed to be all they could talk about. I always just stayed quiet when they talked about something they had convinced a girl to do, disgusted by the disrespect and flagrant disregard with which they talked of them. I've always been baffled and disappointed by the double standard that seems to exist; it's fine if the boys have premarital sex, because apparently it's in our nature. But if the girls do it then they're ruined and morally deficient.

I know that most of their stories were fabricated but they introduced me to things I'd never heard of. Sometimes they went into rather graphic detail, relaying what they called "techniques". I hate to admit it but there have been occurrences where I have thought about Katniss and I doing those things in my dreams, my subconscious mind causing me to think about her in such a way. I always felt ashamed afterwards, when I woke up hot and disoriented, like I had betrayed or disrespected her by fantasizing about those things, whether unconscious or not. I never dreamed about us doing anything that wasn't slow and tender, sweet and romantic, but I still felt bad that I thought about those things.

"Umm… W…Well, I don't know much about it either," I say, my stutter only making my anxiety worse. "But I'll definitely try to answer any questions you have." I pause for a second, gathering myself before I continue. " There's absolutely no rush though. I don't want you to feel pressured to do anything. You… We should only do whatever you feel comfortable with."

She nods thoughtfully, though timidly, and looks down, formulating her response.

"Thank you," She says quietly. "I like kissing you. So I guess for right now we'll start there and I'll ask you questions as they come up?" She looks at me, embarrassment evident in her cheeks and the way she's biting her lip slightly. She looks beautiful, not to mention adorable, and this whole conversation is very surreal.

"Sounds good," I say, managing a small smile and turning back to my food with flaming cheeks. I can't help but smiling slightly at her confession that she likes kissing me, thrilled that she enjoys it, though I probably do more. I love holding her small face in my hand, her soft lips between mine. The little sounds she makes and the way she enthusiastically responds to me is nothing short of incredible and I have to force myself to stop thinking about it before I get too excited.

We eat the rest of the meal in silence. When I get up to clear the plates, my leg cramps slightly and I have to hold onto to the table for balance, though I don't think Katniss notices.

One of my legs is permanently injured from the time I tried to feed a stray dog some left over bread and it attacked me. It was my fault; I was too eager in my advancement and scared the poor creature. It latched on to my leg and mangled the knee and calf. I have long, ragged scars that run down the lower half of my leg from where it latched on and pulled, which I'm very self-conscious of. I do everything in my power to not draw attention to it, though I know I walk with a slight limp.

One of the countless things I worry about is Katniss seeing my bare leg and being repulsed by it. I'm used to it and I still think it's absolutely hideous. I push the thought to the back of my mind, figuring I've had enough anxiety for today.

I resume my task of clearing the table and cleaning up while Katniss starts on the work for today. We go about our respective tasks, neither of us speaking much but sharing a companionable silence.

The rest of the day passes pleasantly, albeit quietly, both of us made timid by our earlier encounter. Both of us are at peace though, a tension has been lifted as the result of our discussion. We both understand that we'll figure things out as they go along and be open to communication.

I'm glad Katniss came to me with her concerns, even if I wasn't able to answer any specific questions today. I'll answer her questions to the best of my ability as they come up, though I'll probably have similar questions myself. I think we both are ok with figuring it out together and helping each other when we can, I know I certainly am.

While we bake and clean and tend to the customers, moving about the bakery, we share light, tender touches and bashful but happy smiles. We've made progress in our relationship today, and even though we don't speak much we're both contented in our easy routine and the gentle reassurance of the other's presence.

When it's time for Katniss to go home I hug her, hesitantly at first, until she envelops me and buries her head in the crook of my neck. I squeeze her close to me and bathe in her scent, the feel of her body in my arms, her soft hair brushing up against my cheek. I muster up the courage to kiss her, a gently peck on the corner of her lips. She returns it briefly, her lips moving over mine tenderly. We part with smiles and our customary greeting, both of us put at ease by the morning's clarification and the confirmation that neither of us regret what happened.

I finish up the tasks for the day in a haze, unable to focus on anything other than what Katniss said. She said she liked kissing me and even more miraculously, that she wanted to do more things. I smile so hard that my cheeks hurt.

When I make it home I go inside and close the door, staring at the painting of a dandelion that is so significant to both of us, although for different reasons. I close my eyes and sigh, the same smile still ghosting on my lips. I feel happy for the first time in a long time.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I can’t apologize enough for the uncharacteristic delay in updating, I’ve been having a bit of a tough time figuring things out and I couldn’t find the motivation to write. But the next chapter is here! It’s nice and long and lots of fluffy stuff happens so I’m hoping that makes up for the delay. The M rating definitely comes into play here, which I hope is satisfactory, it was my first time writing that kind of thing and I don’t know if it turned out right or not. Anyway, I really hope you guys enjoy it and thank you so much for your patience! As always, it makes my day to hear from you all so please let me know what you think and/or say hello. Enjoy!

I cannot believe that I asked Peeta about sex. The look on his face when I brought it up mirrored exactly how I felt, mortified and surprised. I didn’t have any specific questions and thus didn’t get any specific answers but we did establish that we could ask each other questions about things. His openness and willingness to put me at ease has made me feel much better about the whole thing, despite how nervous it made me. 

It was incredibly reassuring to hear him tell me that he wants to do things at my pace and doesn’t want me to feel pressured to do anything I don’t want to. Knowing Peeta, I knew that was how he would feel but it still made me relived to hear it come from him. In all honesty though, I have a sinking suspicion that I won’t want to wait that long at all. If kissing him is any indication, I have a feeling that I’m going to be eager to keep doing physical things with him. Just thinking about touching his bare skin or feeling him pressed up against me makes me shiver, sends pleasant warmth spreading through me. 

The week passed as it normally does after our awkward discussion, albeit a bit more comfortable and tense than before. We talked more than we usually do and Peeta did everything he could to make me laugh. He started tickling me by my waist when I least expect it, making me squirm and giggle uncharacteristically. He started doing that on Tuesday, taking me by surprise by sneaking up behind me. He found out that I am very ticklish and took advantage of this fact by sneaking up on me a couple times a day. 

I can’t say that I mind though. I’ll take any opportunity I can get to feel Peeta’s hands on me. It’s also nothing short of heart stopping to look behind me once he relents and see him grinning from ear to ear, a look of pure joy on his face from hearing me laugh. 

His hand would always linger slightly on my waist before he pulled away, his gentle touch doing less than wholesome things to me. His brief touch has left me craving it even more, finding myself scheming for ways to touch him in turn. Prompted by his random game of tickling, I’ve started sneaking up behind him in the same fashion and blowing on his ear to startle him, usually punctuated by a hand on his shoulder or bicep. He jumps slightly in shock and then smiles, looking back at me in a slightly exasperated, yet happy, way. 

One time, on Thursday, the need to touch him was too overwhelming. I was watching him knead dough, neglecting my own tasks in favor of watching the way his muscles move when he works the dough between his big hands, methodically massaging it. He was wearing a thin, long sleeve shirt, and the visibility of his broad shoulders and muscular back was doing things to me. I felt myself getting flushed and overcome with an overwhelming urge to feel those same muscles beneath my fingertips. 

I gingerly made my way towards him, embarrassed by my own brazenness but not having the capacity to care. On a deep inhale I wrapped my arms around him from behind, feeling him stiffen initially and then relax into my touch. My arms barely reached around him, my wingspan not wide enough to make my hands meet in the middle of his broad torso. I exhaled a shaky breath as he moved his own hands to cover mine, his flour covered fingers providing me with another point of contact. 

I couldn’t see his face but he seemed content and pleasantly surprised. He relaxed into my touch and thankfully didn’t question my actions, as I doubt I would’ve had the words to explain, much less in a way that didn’t make me sound like a hormone-crazed idiot. He indulged my silly little gesture and I relaxed into him, laying my head on his upper back and melding my torso to his. 

The moment was striking in its intimacy, at the ease with which the two of us fit together and responded to the other. It felt so right to be near him like that, to hold him. It was calming and exciting at the same time; the contact was soothing but it made me want to be even closer to him. 

I made myself move away after a few moments and Peeta turned around to look at me, taking my hands in his and smiling genuinely. He looked deep into my eyes, trying to convey the joy he felt at the gesture and kissed me, the two of us making out in the kitchen for several minutes until a customer came in the front and forced us to break apart. It took me a few minutes to gather myself after that, splashing my face with cool water while Peeta tended to the customer.

The touches have become more frequent and longer since then, Friday being filled with lustful stares and kisses. When I walked home yesterday it was on wobbly legs, overwhelmed and almost delirious by all the attention I had received from Peeta. We made plans to have another date on Saturday, which I am now preparing for. 

Every time he kissed me was nothing short of mind numbing. Each kiss seemed impossibly better than the last as we both grew more confident and greedy. I feel a rush of arousal at the thought of what is to come, at the prospect of having Peeta all to myself for an entire day, no customers or work to worry about. 

I told Prim on Thursday that we were going to have another date and she smiled knowingly and promptly made plans with one of her many friends. I’m glad that she was intuitive enough to realize that I might not want her hanging around during my time with Peeta. Though we both adore her, there are some things I simply cannot do in her presence; things like passionately make out with my boyfriend. 

Peeta and I have yet to explicitly call each other “Boyfriend” or “Girlfriend” but I suspect it’s from a lack of interaction with other people rather than an unwillingness to use the title. We’re not trying to hide our relationship; we’re just both pretty antisocial, and he knows I’m a very private person. Even if we wanted to tell people I don’t know who we would tell. Aside from each other we don’t really have friends; something that I know probably isn’t the healthiest but I doesn’t seem to bother either of us all that much. 

Today Peeta and I are going to have lunch at my house which sounds absolutely perfect, given both the privacy and the fact that there’s a full blown storm coming in soon. It’s already pouring in torrents and the sky is dark, the air chilled. Prim went over to her friend’s house a couple hours ago, back when it was only sprinkling. I’m a bit worried about Peeta driving over here in this weather, but I know he’ll be cautious, given that he’s a very good driver. 

As for Prim, if the time comes when she’s supposed to come home and the storm is like it is right now or worse, I think I might have to ask her to stay the night. I don’t want to take any risks of someone I don’t know very well driving my sister home in treacherous weather. 

My anxious thoughts are interrupted when I hear Peeta knocking on the front door and I rush downstairs, not wanting him to get wet and chilled from the wind, given that our front porch doesn’t have much of an awning. I open the door to find him hunched in on himself from the cold, his wet curls sticking to his forehead. 

I usher him in and take the bag of groceries from him while he hangs up his coat in the closet. I run to the kitchen to drop the bag on the counter and hurry back to him, smiling at both his presence in my home and the way he’s looking at me. His cheeks and nose are red from the bitter wind, making him look positively adorable in combination with his sodden hair. He’s holding a brown paper bag filled with groceries, the bag almost as wet as he is. 

Encouraged by his smile, I step forward and move his hair back off his forehead, my hand lingering on his cheek when I pull away slightly, still standing close to him. 

“Hi, Peeta,” I say, slightly embarrassed by my actions but happy with the joyous and disbelieving look on his face. 

“Hi, Katniss,” He says softly, his words hanging in the small space between us. He looks nervous for a moment and moves his hand towards mine, hesitating halfway before gently taking my hand in his, looking up at me to see how I respond to his sudden touch. I smile up at him, glad that he has initiated contact and happy to have him in my home. I squeeze his hand and move to hug him, not giving myself time to second-guess my actions. 

He doesn’t hesitate this time like he has so many times before, instead he immediately returns my embrace, moving his arms around my waist and holding me close to him. 

I press my face in the crook of his neck and breathe deeply, inhaling the scent of rain and cinnamon as I gently play with the wet curls at the nape of his neck, reveling in the comfort of the moment. 

We pull back after a long moment and look at each other shyly before his uneven voice breaks the silence. 

“Are you hungry? We could make something together if you want.” I nod and smile; unable to think of anything I would rather do than watch Peeta move around my tiny kitchen, making a delicious meal for us while I try not to get in the way. I considered making something before he got here but realized that I would just embarrass myself. 

I take his hand again and lead him into the kitchen where I lean against the countertop, slightly overwhelmed by his proximity and the way he rubs his thumb gently over the back of my hand as he stands in front of me, obviously unsure of how close he should be. 

“What do you want to make?” I ask, looking up at him bashfully, trying to clear my head of the fog that has blurred my thoughts, making me want nothing other than to be as close to him as I can. 

“Whatever you want; I brought some groceries, I could make some bread or a salad or some cheese buns –“ 

I cut him off with a smile and a squeeze of his hand, “Cheese buns sound great,” I say and he chuckles, moving away from the counter and reluctantly untangling our hands. 

“Cheese buns sound great,” He says, starting to unload the contents of the bag, looking back at me as I stand behind him, admiring the way his shirt hugs his muscles. “I had a feeling we would make those today.” 

He’s looking back at me again, smiling, watching me embarrass myself by visibly shaking myself out of my trance. I can feel my cheeks flame as I try desperately to formulate a response, to remember what he even said to me. 

“They’re really good,” I mumble, mortified that I’ve already embarrassed myself in the two minutes I’ve been here. 

He notices my embarrassment and moves to take my hand, holding it tightly and looking at me with amusement, at the same time trying to comfort me. 

“I’m glad you like them,” He says, squeezing my hand lightly before going back to unloading the groceries. I appreciate that Peeta is so quick to recognize discomfort and try to ease it, probably because he gets nervous so often. I stay in my spot behind him, trying very hard not to stare again while he places everything out on the counter. 

I get him a big mixing bowl and a spoon from the cabinet, placing it next to him while he gathers the flour and all the other things he needs to make what is probably my favorite food. I put some measuring cups next to him and stand back, unsure if I should try to help or not. 

Peeta senses my apprehension and lightly places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me towards the ingredients while his cheeks redden noticeably. He rubs my back slightly before withdrawing his hand, lingering for a second before he runs his hand through his hair and looks to me, again nervous at how I will respond to his touch. 

I smile, slightly dazed from how good and how intimate his touch felt. “Ok,” he says, letting out a breath and reaching for the bag of flour, scooping out a couple cups into the bowl. “How about you help me knead the dough while I throw together a salad to go with this?” He’s so quick that he’s finished putting in the ingredients b the time he’s done talking, the dough already forming into a loose ball as he mixes everything with his hands. 

“Sounds good,” I say, lightly dusting my countertop before he transfers the dough to the counter and moves to make the salad after I get him another bowl. 

I start kneading, apprehensive because I’ve never made cheese buns before. At the bakery, the main thing we sell is bread so I’ve only learned how to make that. I leave the delicate pastries to Peeta, cheese buns falling under that jurisdiction. He’s tried to teach me how to make them on a couple occasions but I bashfully refuse each time, unwilling to let myself screw up and waste the ingredients. 

So I knead the dough tentatively and sneak glances at him, both for confirmation that I’m doing it right and to watch him move around my little kitchen, completely in his element. He notices me looking at him and smiles, moving over to me with more confidence than he had previously, seemingly emboldened by the act of cooking and doing something familiar. 

He moves behind me, gently placing his large hands over mine, showing me how to properly knead the dough. “Cheese buns are a bit tricky because they have to be kneaded differently than most other doughs.” He speaks softly, his rough, slightly uneven voice filling my ear, all of my senses being invaded by him. I feel his chest pressed lightly against my back, his arms enveloping mine, his rough fingers moving deftly over my small ones. I will myself to concentrate on what he’s saying and not get lost in him, though I do lean back slightly to feel him more fully against me. 

I can’t see his face but I imagine it’s beet red as he tightens his arm around me slightly, picking up on my desire for more contact. “The cheese buns, they have to be kneaded a bit differently because the dough needs to be lighter than normal bread dough. Otherwise they’re too dense and they don’t melt in your mouth the way they should.” He says shakily, our hands moving in conjunction with mine as he corrects my movements. He’s folding the dough more than I was, allowing more air to be introduced into it. 

I can feel his muscles flex as his arms move, his damp curls lightly brushing the back of my head, making it increasingly harder to focus on what my hands are doing. I feel hot, my cheeks flaming, and I wonder if Peeta has any idea what his proximity is doing to me. I’m slightly embarrassed that such a simple action has such a profound effect on me but at the same time I don’t care, the feelings too pleasant for me to be completely embarrassed of them. 

We stand like that for a few minutes, although I’ve gotten the hang of it Peeta stays where he is, not that I’m complaining. I have to force myself to breathe slowly and deeply the entire time, otherwise I might combust on the spot from all the excitement. It slightly ridiculous how excited he makes me, even from touching me in a non-sexual way. I think he feels similarly though, if his shaky breaths are any indication. 

He withdraws after an indeterminate amount of time, slowly moving his hands off of mine and drawing them up my arms as he moves away, making me nearly delirious. 

I miss the feel of him the second he’s not touching me anymore, my fingers sinking into the dough one last time so I don’t lose control of myself and jump on him or something. My body is making it very difficult for me to be around him, constantly making me yearn for his touch, his kisses. Whenever I’m near him, especially after he just had his arms around me, I can’t think properly, all I can think of is the way he felt against me and how badly I want to feel that again. 

It makes me hard to do things like function in a non-mortifying way or speak. I keep my eyes downcast despite the overwhelming urge to look at him and see whether or not he was as affected by that as I was. 

We both are quiet for a few minutes, him tossing the salad and then showing me how to form the dough into balls and fold the little bits of cheese inside and sprinkle it on top. He places them in the oven when we’re done and he helps me clean up, even washing the bowl and putting it away for me. 

“Do you want to have some salad while we wait for the buns?’ He asks, reverting back to his previous level of nervousness now that he doesn’t have anything to occupy his hands. 

I nod and get two bowls out, setting my ancient dinner table while he serves us. We both sit down and enjoy the delicious salad he’s made, full of nuts and cucumber, even some strawberries, topped off with a perfectly seasoned vinaigrette.   
Neither of us know what to say while we eat, each of us nervous and afraid of embarrassing ourselves or saying the wrong thing. I slowly move my foot towards him, watching his face for a reaction as my foot comes in contact with his; my desperate attempt to be touching him in any way I can. 

He looks up at me, surprised, and then a suppressed smile overtakes his face as he looks down at his food, taking a bite while he returns my gesture under the table and tangles his foot with mine. 

I can’t help but smile too, feeling like a silly little girl but not finding it within me to care, too distracted by the perfection of this moment. I can smell the cheese buns baking in the oven, nearing completion and filing my home with a delicious, savory scent. I can feel Peeta’s foot moving with mine for no reason other than to feel each other. I see Peeta’s smile, his obvious happiness that only feeds my giddiness and the stirring in my lower belly. 

We finish our salads like that, silently playing our little game of footsy under the table while we wait for the cheese buns to finish. Finally my timer dings and I hurry to the oven, knocking my chair over in haste to get up. Peeta chuckles and gets up with me, his radiant smile doing wonders to ease my embarrassment. He fixes the chair for me while I put on a mitt and take the buns out of the oven, deeply inhaling their incredible scent and placing them on the countertop. 

“We should wait a few minutes for them to cool,” He says, chuckling again at my disappointment. He takes my hand in his, distracting me from my impatience. “How about I make some hot chocolate? They’ll go great with the cheese buns.” The idea of eating cheese buns with hot chocolate seems a bit odd to me but I can’t deny that it is the perfect weather for some hot chocolate, the idea of sipping some while listening to the rain sends a pleasant warmth through me, adding to the feeling of comfort and excitement that Peeta’s touch incites in me. 

“I’ll take your word for it,” I say, unable to keep the goofy grin from my face as he tells me to trust him and gets some chocolate from the things he brought with him. I watch him as he melts the chocolate on the stove and adds milk and sugar to it. The smell of the warm chocolate mixed with the scent of the cheese buns is positively overwhelming, not helped by the fact that I’m watching Peeta’s back muscles move under his shirt again. 

A couple minutes later he pours the finished concoction into two mugs that I placed on the counter, along with placing two cheese buns on a plate, making a cozy little snack for both of us. 

I take my mug and plate, looking back at Peeta as I walk into the living room, encouraging him to follow me. I move to the couch and place my treats on the coffee table in front of me, sitting down and patting the place next to me; Peeta setting his own drink down before tentatively sitting next to me. He’s close but not close enough and in a moment of bravery I scoot closer to him, our thighs now touching. He’s surprised by my brazenness but seems to enjoy the proximity, looking over at me with a big, goofy smile on his face. I take a bite of my cheese bun and can’t help but make a sound in the back of my throat, the warm cheese and bread tasting impossibly good. 

I look to Peeta when I open my eyes and find him looking at me in the peculiar way he does whenever I obviously enjoy something I eat. I smile bashfully and look down, trying my best to focus on my food and not the way that Peeta’s thigh, the one that’s not touching me, is bouncing a little bit, making his nerves apparent. 

I pick up my hot chocolate and take a sip, closing my eyes and taking in the lavish flavor. It’s rich and velvety, a fragrant and perfectly sweet concoction. I look to Peeta to see he’s watching me and he tells me quietly to try dipping the bun in the hot chocolate and I do, the flavors filling me with another level of comfort. The sweetness of the hot chocolate compliments the cheese bun perfectly, enhancing both the flavors and somehow making them each more enjoyable.

I finish my snack with Peeta beside me, red-cheeked and sneaking glances at me every few seconds. The rain outside is pounding on my roof and I can hear gentle rumbles of thunder become increasingly louder, along with the occasional flash of lightening through the grey sky. 

I listen to the storm outside with Peeta beside me, both nervous and calm at the same time. I sip my hot chocolate, the fullness in my belly and the tranquility of the situation making me feel warm and relaxed. When Peeta’s finished I take his hand and hold it in my lap, watching him. 

He looks positively beautiful with his golden curls falling into his eyes and his ruddy cheeks, his cerulean eyes looking at me tentatively. I’m once again overcome with a wave of affection and attraction for him, the familiar heat reigniting low in my belly and making me ache for the feel of his lips on mine. I put my mug down and scoot closer to him, practically moving into his lap as he puts his own mug down, smiling nervously in anticipation. 

I bring my face close to his and admire him and his alabaster skin, gently cupping his jaw and absorbing the hungry look he gives me. I kiss him and immediately he responds, easily matching my enthusiasm. Our kisses become hungrier and more heated but not rushed, a pace that stokes the fire within me to a blaze, something that is overwhelming in its intensity. 

Between the kisses, the rain outside, and the affection I have for him I feel relaxed and emboldened, not weighed down by my previous fears and insecurities. I know that Peeta wants me and it has become all too apparent that I want him just as much. 

I move myself into his lap fully, placing my knees on either side of his hips and setting myself gently in his lap. We don’t break contact but I feel him stiffen initially in surprise before pulling ay my lips even more passionately, placing his hands on my waist, holding me to him. 

This is the closest I’ve ever been to him, the most contact we’ve ever allowed ourselves to have, and it feels incredible. I feel similar to when I had the wine at his house, a warm fuzzy feeling inside of me and a reduced sense of humility. 

He moves his hands up and down my back in a soothing motion and despite its innocence I find myself even more excited, even more turned on by him; something I hadn’t thought possible. I realize at some point that my hips are making small movements, seemingly of their own volition, seeking out some type of friction to quell the rising heat inside me. 

The amazing thing is that I don’t stop what I realize what’s happening, I don’t shy away in embarrassment and bolt out of the room like I expect myself to. I let myself enjoy what we have between us and feel Peeta’s frenzied breathing, the desperation with which his hands roam my body. 

I have no sense of time other than knowing that I never want this to end. I would be perfectly happy to stay like this all night, feeling his hands on me, but I know that this is building to a crescendo and it’s only a matter of time before we become too desperate with want. 

I can feel his erection underneath me, surprisingly large and stiff and I can’t even find it in me to be embarrassed that I’m brushing up against it. One of Peeta’s hands accidently slips under my shirt and touches the bare skin just above my hip and I moan, encouraging Peeta to place both his hands there and making me impossibly warm and excited, the feel of his large, soft hands on my bare skin better than anything I could’ve imagined. 

We’re both positively frenzied, neither of us able to control our movements or our labored breathing. My hips take on a faster pace, desperate for the release rising within me. 

Suddenly, it’s there and it’s mind numbing, so much stronger than the releases I’ve sought on my own. My orgasm washes over me, making me break my lips from Peeta’s and clench his arms, moaning softly, unable to do anything but revel in the bliss of it. 

When I start to come down I notice that Peeta’s watching me with a fire I’ve never seen before and he looks positively radiant, his own hips working against me before his face contorts in pleasure and his eyes shut. He moves against me one last time and stills, holding me to him incredibly tight, his face buried in the column of my neck as he groans and tries to catch his breath. 

I hold him to me, awed at what just happened. I laugh a small, shaky laugh, the happiness and disbelief escaping from inside me. Peeta just nuzzles further into me; peppering light kisses on my shoulders and neck. 

I pull back and we look at each other, Peeta embarrassed but smiling, his eyes taking on a lightness that I’ve never seen them have before. I chuckle again and kiss his nose, his eyes, his forehead, trying to make him understand how happy he’s made me. 

He looks at me with reverence, returning my kisses and holding me for a moment before shifting his hips uncomfortably and I realize that I should probably move so he can clean up or whatever he needs to do. 

I don’t know much about the male body but I know that their orgasm results in some kind of fluid, which is how pregnancy happens. I imagine he must be a bit uncomfortable so I move off of him, sitting to his side and taking in the grateful smile he gives me. 

“Umm j-just give me one second I’ll be right back,” He says, his cheeks as red as they’ve ever been, his movements shaky as he gets up off the couch to go to the bathroom. 

I sit there for a minute, dazed, not sure how to make sense of all the emotions whirling inside of me and not having the energy to care. I recline on the couch, letting my head drop back onto the cushion and the satisfied feeling calm me. I listen to the rain as I wait for Peeta, a small smile on my face as I let myself relax.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Hi guys! So extremely, terribly, very, very sorry for the long wait. I’ve been trying to figure stuff out and it’s been difficult and unfortunately I wasn’t feeling too much like writing most of the time. I actually just finished this chapter when I was supposed to be writing college application essays! It is what it is. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy and please, please, please, let me know how you liked it or what you want to see, I love hearing from you guys. Thank you so much for your continued patronage and support! I have not in any way abandoned this story it’s just been taking me a bit longer to do updates recently. I wish all of you the very best and hope you’re all doing ok with school/work/whatever you have to deal with it. Ok, enough rambling, enjoy!

After Peeta got back from the bathroom a calm energy seemed to descend over us, despite the brazenness of our actions just a few moments ago. Peeta’s nervousness seemed to have calmed when he came back and saw me reclining on the couch, catching me in a moment of quiet contemplation with a smile ghosting my lips. 

He sat down on the couch next to me and smiled sheepishly before taking my hand. The pure comfort of the moment was overwhelming, with the drowsy feeling accompanied by a physical sensitivity that was both exciting and pleasant having settled over my body. The rain is pouring heavily, pitter-pattering on the old roof as thunder rumbles in the distance and flashes of lightening cast shadows in the living room. 

With Peeta by my side, my head resting gently on his shoulder, it’s all impossibly cozy and perfect. I’ve been resting on him, cuddled slightly into his side, a silent happiness existing between us when I open my eyes lazily. I turn my head from his shoulder to take in his face and catch him in an unguarded moment. 

He looks positively angelic with his eyes closed, head resting on the back of the couch, smile on his beautifully swollen lips. His impossibly long eyelashes flutter when he realizes I have moved and he looks at me, moving his head and smiling more broadly. 

I take his face in my hands, the size of his jaw making my fingers look tiny. I give him a gentle kiss, not meaning to incite another heated session but rather give him a sweet reminder of my joy and of the fact that I have no regrets. He returns my kiss; his soft, milky skin moving beneath my palms as his plump lips lazily latch onto mine. 

I pull back before things can go further and take his hand in mine. 

“I should get up and check the time, Prim might be needing to come home soon.” 

“Ok,” He says, raising his lips into his seemingly permanent smile and getting up with me, squeezing my hand before letting it go to take our empty plates into the kitchen. 

I check the clock in the entryway and see its about a half hour from when Prim said she would be home and I realized I’ve let the time get away from me, distracted as I was by the handsome man currently washing dishes in my home, a goofy grin on his face no doubt. 

I go to the phone on the wall and call the number that I had written down previously, anxious to catch her friend’s mother before she tries to leave. I look out the window while the phone is dialing, drawing back the curtain and peeking out at the rain that pelts down unforgiving on the flooded road, the lightening illuminating the otherwise grey and sunless sky.   
I feel the dredges of panic start to take hold within me when I think about Prim being driven home in this weather, scared and unsafe. I breathe a small sigh of relief when a woman on the other line answers and I shakily tell her that I’m very worried about the storm and ask if there’s any way that Prim can stay until it passes. She sounds kind and tells me that she was just about to call me to ask the same thing and that the children are having lots of fun and would love to have more time together anyway. We agree that Prim will stay the night and I will call her in the morning when I’m ready for her to come home. 

I thank the woman, her name is Annie, profusely, and the relief in my voice is evident, my anxiety eased now that I know Prim will not be in a similar situation to my parents the night they died. Annie tells me that Prim and her daughter are having a fantastic time and seem to becoming fast friends. She invites me over to dinner sometime to properly meet her and her husband; his name is Finnick I think. I graciously accept and hang up the phone, immensely relieved that Prim is safe for the night. 

I wander into the living room again, finding Peeta crouched in front of the fireplace, building a fire to keep us warm as the storm wages on outside. He smiles at me in greeting and I crouch beside him helping him light and stoke the fire until it is a steady blaze, warming my face and chilly fingers. We relocate to the couch, sitting closely, both of us clutching our now tepid hot chocolate. 

“Did you talk to the mother of Prim’s friend?” He asks, also seeming concerned about the prospect of Prim being driven home in this weather. 

“Yes, I was really anxious about her trying to make it over here in this,” He nods, listening intently and putting his mug down to rub little circles on my upper back. “But the mother, Annie, she was very nice and assured me that it would be no trouble for Prim to stay the night.” 

“Good, I think that’s best. I could always go pick her up but the storm is really bad, it’s probably for the best that she stays where she is,” He says, smiling and putting me more at ease with the fact that he would’ve tried to venture out into this to pick up my little sister. 

I squeeze his thigh in gratitude and silence settles over us, the pressing matter of Prim’s placement out of the way. Sitting close to him on the couch, the rain outside and his hand on my back, I realize that Prim is going to be gone all night, meaning that Peeta and I will be here by ourselves. Alone. 

There’s no way I’m letting Peeta go out into this to go home, which means that he’s staying the night too. Something like nervous excitement runs through me, the thought of Peeta staying the night both delicious and dangerous.

It’s become painfully clear that being in close proximity to Peeta does things to me, makes me have thoughts and urges that I’ve never experienced before, feelings that lead me to act in scandalous, albeit satisfying ways. I can’t say that it bothers me but I realize that I am going to have to exercise some restraint if we’re alone together all night. As much as I’m sure that Peeta is the one that I would want to do other things with, I don’t want to rush anything by cramming the majority of our sexual activities into the span of one stormy, inhibition-less night. 

I look at him slowly, suddenly unsure on how to broach the topic of a sleepover, whether by circumstance or otherwise. 

“So,” I say, busying myself by taking a sip of my lukewarm hot chocolate. “I guess that means it’s just the two of us tonight.” 

He smiles widely, seemingly unperturbed by the idea. “I guess so,” He says, moving to take my hand and squeeze it gently. He must sense my sudden nervousness because he looks at me reassuringly, attempting to ease my nerves. 

“But that doesn’t mean that anything else has to happen, Katniss,” He tells me, taking on a more serious disposition in an attempt to calm me. “I’ll sleep on the couch and we can just spend the rest of the evening reading or playing a game or something, I don’t want you to feel any pressure about doing anything else. You know if you regret what we’ve already done you can tell me but either way I don’t want you to feel like I expect something else to happen because I don’t, I’m just thrilled that I get to spend time with you.” 

He looks at me in an incredibly sincere and calming way; making me believe every word he’s said and feel much better about the situation. While his words put me at ease, I was never much worried about feeling pressure from him, more about myself being unable to control myself and acting like a wild animal. But I decide to take it a moment at a time and make sure he doesn’t mistake my nervous energy for feelings of regret. 

“Thank you, Peeta,” I say, trying my best to rub the little comforting circles on his hand that he often rubs on mine. He notices the gesture and smiles, his own nerves seemingly calming a little from the simple movement. “I don’t regret what we’ve done.” I tell him, watching him visibly relax as I realize the importance of communicating fully with him to ease the anxiety he often feels. “Like at all,” I add quietly, looking down at our hands at my admission. 

“I’m glad,” He says quietly, showing me the goofy grin he always does when he’s surprised or relieved by something I’ve said. I take a moment to marvel at the power I seem to have over this gentle boy; the ability he’s given me to make him happy so easily. 

I settle down a bit, relaxing further, when I think about the hours ahead I’ll get to spend with him, filled with lazy kisses and conversations, the rain protecting us from the distractions of the outside world for a little while. Besides our time at the bakery, we’ve never had time alone like this before.   
I treasure my time at the bakery with him but it’s a different type of interaction. When we’re at work our interactions are full of nervous smiles and gentle touches. Few words pass between us under the guise of having something to do. When I’m at the bakery I feel an obligation to keep myself busy; both to lessen the amount of work that Peeta has to do and to distract myself from his proximity. 

Unlike now, I don’t let myself stare at him and think about all the feelings he incites in me. Like the way my fingers itch to touch him and my body aches to feel his solid warmth. 

But now we’re alone together in my home and there are no distractions, no feelings of duty to keep me from cuddling with him and getting to know him better. I realize that I feel such a connection to him, such a comfort being with him, but I haven’t spent that much time talking to him. I don’t know so many things about him and suddenly I want to know them all, I want to stay up all night listening to every hope and dream he’s ever had, trying to figure out what made this man so gentle and kind. 

Besides brief insights we’ve given each other into our pasts and the information that seems to spread around town, I realize we don’t know much about each other; neither of us having the courage to open up or ask the other person to. But I suddenly want to, I want to know everything I can about this man that is both comforting and puzzling. His gentle nature confounds me, as it is something that I have not seen in any other person. I don’t know how he’s managed to be so incredibly kind despite his awful mother and his loss and loneliness, how he’s managed to not let this harsh world corrode him into something hard and defensive the way it has done to me. 

I lean my head on his shoulder and tuck my feet under me on the couch, settling into him, encouraging him to get comfortable too. He scoots closer and puts his arm around my shoulders, nuzzling me closer into his side. I feel incredibly warm and content, a domestic comfort that I haven’t felt in years. I take his hand in mine and stroke it gently, feeling the soft skin, seeing how it contrasts in a pleasing way with my own olive tone. 

Profoundly comfortable, I think about what I want to know about this boy. He’s poured his heart out to me and told me that he thinks the world of me, that he would do anything for me and my sister, but I don’t even think I know his favorite color. That doesn’t seem right and I decide to remedy it, hoping I don’t sound silly and childish. 

“Peeta?” I ask, speaking softly as he moves the side of his head to rest on mine. 

“Yes?” He whispers back, his gentle voice rumbling softly in my ear. 

“What’s your favorite color?” He answers with a light chuckle, the deep sound both relaxing me further and exciting me.   
“Orange,” He says, moving his fingers in tandem with mine, the two of us searching and stroking each other’s skin, craving any contact we can get despite how close we are and the things we’ve done already. 

“Orange?” I question, thinking that such a brash color seems unbefitting of him. I would expect his favorite color to be something of a soft blue or something equally comforting; this boy that can paint things with such a lifelike quality must have a different favorite color than orange. 

“A soft, lazy orange, like the sun right before it retires for the night or when it first rises in the morning. What about you?” His soft words soothe me and seem fitting. It would make sense that Peeta would appreciate the way the sun sets and rises, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he makes a point of watching the sun come up and go to rest each day. I make a mental note to keep an eye out next time we’re at the bakery to see if he looks out the window as the sun comes up. 

I have to think about my answer to his question, though I know it will not be as poetic or beautiful as his response I want him to have a similar insight into what comforts me. “I suppose my favorite color would be green. Like the deep green of the trees in late summer, right before fall comes and cools everything down.” 

He gently kisses the top of my head; I can imagine he’s smiling and I hope he’s as happy as I am; that he thinks this moment is as perfect as I do. “That sounds beautiful. Maybe you could show me the woods sometime, maybe in the spring.” 

I smile at the suggestion, thinking nothing sounds as tranquil as seeing Peeta in my woods with his golden hair brightened by the sun and his fair cheeks made pink from exertion. 

“That sounds nice, I would love to.” He squeezes me closer with his arm and I nuzzle into him, already so close but wishing I were closer. I don’t think I’ll be truly satisfied until this boy and I have no barriers between us, until I can feel his beautiful skin pressed against the length of me. I take a breath and remind myself to take what I can get, to not rush things, especially when they are this beautiful and natural. 

Silence stretches between us for a few moments but it is not uncomfortable. There is no expectation to fill it with words or stuff it with awkward smiles. We’ve reached an understanding, both of us knowing that the other wants to be here just as much as we do and it’s exquisitely comfortable. But I still want to know more about him. I practically want to crawl inside him and see everything that makes him so soft and gentle. 

“Do you ever miss your mother, Peeta?” I ask, not stopping to think if my words might ruin the balance that we’ve reached or if I might disrupt the comfortable silence. 

He doesn’t seem to tense though. He simply takes a moment to collect his thoughts and continues to stroke my skin lazily, holding me just as close as he was before. 

“Sometimes,” He starts and I listen closely, aching to understand. “Sometimes, I miss a mother, I miss a comforting maternal figure, but not her. She was never kind or comforting to me. She was bitter for as long as I can remember, though my dad said she wasn’t always that way. She became angered easily, especially by me it seemed. Whenever I made a mistake she would yell and sometimes strike me and she would berate me about it for days. Most of the time I would just try to stay away and talk to her as little as possible. It was my dad who I went to for comfort. So I don’t miss her. But sometimes I miss what she could’ve been, what I imagine a good mother is. But mostly I miss my dad.” 

I let go of his hand and snake both of my arms around his torso, burrowing deeper into him, willing him to absorb all the love and comfort I have to give. My heart breaks for him and the little boy he was, scared of his own mother and her wrath. 

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, though it seems like an insult, not nearly enough for all the pain and loneliness he’s suffered. 

“It’s ok sweetheart,” He says softly, kissing my hair again and hugging me against him. “It’s been a lot better since I’ve known you, a lot less lonely.” 

I place a quick kiss to his cheek and burrow back into him, still sad for him but comforted by how much better we both seem to feel because of the other. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have a mother that is so hostile and unloving. Both my parents were incredible and deeply in love. We didn’t have much but I remember our family always being so happy when we were together. My mother would light up when my father came home and we would spend long evenings together in this room, on this couch, singing songs and telling stories and playing games. 

It hurt so much to have that ripped away so suddenly but I will always have those glorious memories, those moments of warmth and love to remember in times of hardship. I can’t imagine what it must be like to not have that. Or to not have someone to look after and pour all your energy into. Prim has given me purpose and I suppose having me in his life is similar for Peeta. He finally has a distraction from his grief and loneliness and I’m so happy I can provide that for him. 

The silence descends upon us again and I let myself think about what it would be like if we were a little family, my little sister and Peeta and I. I can’t help but think it would be beautiful, each day filled with golden kisses and warm hugs; a bakery to work in together, lingering touches shared between us all day long. Then to come home to Prim and a home filled with good food and gorgeous paintings, a home filled with Peeta and his gentle goodness. It fills me with such a sense of joy to imagine living that life. 

I remind myself to not get ahead of myself and to enjoy the moment and how incredibly good it is. But every moment I spend with Peeta, every touch and every kiss leaves me satisfied but also even hungrier than I was before. No longer am I hollow and starving, instead I am so full. Full of good food and love and want and greed for more. 

I want to never not be close to him. I want to fill him with affection and comfort the way he has done for me. I want him to feel just as unexpectedly happy as he makes me. 

I kiss him; slow and deep, unable to contain the cauldron of joy I have bubbling inside of me. He returns the kiss, searching and sensual, expressing all the emotions that my question has brought up. After a moment I pull back and look at him and his flushed cheeks and bright eyes. I cannot only imagine but am filled with a special kind of wonder at the thought of seeing that face every day, of waking up to his loving gaze beside me. 

I pepper little kisses on his face; his nose, his eyes, his strong jaw. He closes his eyes and smiles, somehow looking even more breathtaking than he did a moment ago. 

I pull back and he takes in a shaky breath, looking at me disbelievingly. I’m struck with another moment of courage and I pull back a bit farther, facing him and stroking his hands gently. 

“What do you see yourself doing in 10 years?’” I find myself holding my breath, strung tight and anxious at the realization that his visions for himself could not match up with the visions I have had of us together. The thought of him not seeing something long term with me would be devastating. It scares me how much the thought hurts and how desperate it makes me feel. 

He looks at me a bit confused for a second, trying to derive meaning from my strange and sudden question. 

“I don’t know…” He says, now shy and unsure, looking down at our hands as he talks. “In a perfect world I would still have the bakery and it would be doing well. And …” He looks up at me, gauging my reaction while I silently will him to say what I so want to hear; that he wants a family, that he wants that family to be me. 

“And nothing would make me happier than having someone to come home to at night. A courageous, beautiful woman that loves me. But that’s a long time from now and I doubt I would be so lucky.” 

His words make me sad for him again, sad that he doesn’t let himself hope for that. It’s clear that he feels insecure sharing that with me, probably thinking that it will scare me off. It would’ve scared me off a couple months ago. The prospect of commitment like that would have terrified me before I realized that I wanted it, before I realized who I wanted it with. But now the idea fills me with a sense of elation, only dampened by the fact that Peeta thinks it implausible. 

“I don’t know, 10 years passes faster than you think. I think it’s entirely possible.” I say just as shyly as he did, watching my fingers dance over his skin. He smiles big and bright at me, his earlier anxiety of rejection fading away. It’s the closest that I can get to admitting the depth of my feelings but I think it’s enough. 

We both bask in those words for a moment, reveling in the possibility of a future together. We each became more vulnerable with each other tonight, him sharing more of his painful past and me sharing the possibility that I see in our future. We sit quietly, both perfectly content, both enjoying the rain and the crackling fire and the person beside us. 

“Do you read a lot, Peeta?” I ask, deciding the image of him absorbed in a book seems fitting, given how beautifully he describes things. 

“I do,” He says, cuddling me slightly closer into his side, seemingly just as desperate to be close to me as I am to him. “I like to read fiction books when I’m home alone, it gives me something to focus on and makes me sleepy before bedtime. If I didn’t read I’d probably stay up too late, occupied by own thoughts. Do you usually read?” 

“Sometimes, though not as much as I should. I have a few books but I’m normally too tired at the end of the day to think of it. It sounds nice though, to read before bed.”

“If you want, I could read to you right now? Reading is always especially cozy when it’s raining outside and there’s a fire going.” 

The idea thrills me, and I chastise myself for not thinking of it before. I can’t imagine a better way to fill this time than to be cuddled up with this boy, hearing his smooth, deep voice read me a story. I practically bounce up off the couch, moving towards my modest bookshelf and picking the perfect book for this occasion. 

I settle back into the couch and hand Peeta my selection, a tattered paperback copy of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. He looks surprised but delighted at my selection and I hope he likes this book too, given that it’s probably my favorite.

“My dad used to read this book to Prim and I sometimes before bed. He must have read the whole thing to us three or four times. I’ve always loved it.” 

He looks at me and smiles, holding the book reverently between us. “I would be honored to read this to you. This book is one of my favorites, too.” 

I smile wide and take the liberty of cozying into him, all modesty aside. He holds me nice and snug, his arm draped around me, when he opens up the book to the first page and starts reading, the soft cadence of his voice painting the fantastical scene for me, the vibrations of his chest just as hypnotizing as the words. 

He reads to me for a long time, speaking slowly and softly as the night wears on and I try to fully take in each moment, warring with my eyes and foggy brain to stay awake so I can keep experiencing it. Eventually the drowsiness overtakes me and I can feel myself losing consciousness. 

It’s like this, all cuddled up and curled into each other that I drift off to sleep, Peeta’s hand gently combing through my hair while I let thoughts of what could be, what will be, lull me into a peaceful sleep, the likes of which I only achieve when he is near.


End file.
